SILENT HILL: Prelude to a Crappy Plotline
by Saddened Soul
Summary: [The prequel to SH:TOWCP]Before the town became what it was, before a man named the Lord waged war on the earthly realm, there was but one man... and his name was Frank Sunderland. This is his story.
1. Episode One

_A/N: Before you begin reading, understand that this is a prequel to another Silent Hill story of mine. While it can be read by itself, certain plot elements will take for granted that you HAVE read the story, so this is a fair warning._

**SILENT HILL: Prelude to a Crappy Plotline; Episode One**

With the wind in his dark chocolate hair and a cigarette in his hand, Frank Sunderland could not have been happier that crisp, autumn morning. Before him was his dream, a dream that had been realized three years earlier, but even still, it was a work-in-progress for him. It was a young building, full of spirit. A fresh coat of paint had made it seem just like it had been completed yesterday, and it was like that for Frank. How time flew.

But as much as Frank loved admiring what he considered his lovechild—for Frank had never fallen in love and did not plan to, so it was the closest thing—he still had business to attend to. And today that business had taken the form of the short, bald man standing to his right.

"Mr. Sunderland," he said nervously, his smile faltering, "are we all clear? Is my leasing of Room 204 official?"

Frank took one last drag before flicking the cigarette to the ground and crushing it under his heel. As he blew out a stream of smoke from his lips he reached into one of his black jacket's pocket and brought out a crumpled-up piece of paper. He unfolded it, removed a pen from his other pocket, and held them out to the mousy man.

"Yep," he replied, "all you have to do now is sign. The room will be yours for three months."

The mousy man hesitantly scribbled his signature onto the wrinkled sheet of paper and Frank masterfully folded it in half, defined the crease, and then slipped it back into his jacket. He produced a pack of half-empty cigarettes and then took one out and lit it. During this process he caught himself and looked up the mousy man as he held his lighter up to the tip of the cigarette. "Want one?"

"Huh? Oh, n-no, I don't smoke."

"Smart," Frank commented as he lit the thing and took a drag. The man's beady little eyes swiveled around in their sockets and he rubbed the back of his bald head.

"Thank you for this, Mr. Sunderland. This is quite a wonderful opportunity for me. I'll start inviting the children over soon."

"Glad to be able to help," Frank said as he placed the cancer stick between two of his teeth.

The man nodded uncertainly and cocked any eyebrow at what he saw Frank doing. "That's bad for your teeth, Mr. Sunderland. The chewing of it, I mean."

"I know," he said, and gave one affectionate last glance at South Ashfield Heights before heading for his baby-blue, roughed-up car that was parked by the side of the street.

"Where are you going?" the man asked him as he jumped into the driver seat and took another drag.

"I'm going to pick up my assistant!" Frank said and then started up the car and rode off. The mousy man watched him go before turning back to the apartments.

---

"Well, miss, it seems we're going to have to change out your entire toilet system," James "Jimmy" Stone said as he straightened up and drew a small notepad from his pack. As he began writing on it with a black pen the woman he was speaking to went around the toilet and nearly pinned him against the restroom wall.

"You're not leaving _yet_, are you?" she asked him timidly as he squirmed away from her and continued to jot down notes. He wiped his brow, sending raven bangs to the left. "I haven't even had the chance to offer you some lemonade, and I baked some cookies when I heard you were coming-,"

"No, I'm not leaving _yet_, ma'am," James told her quickly. "We still have to negotiate the price of this visit and the total cost of all the equipment we have to purchase to make the repairs. It'll be quite costly, I imagine. That's what I'm trying to calculate here. If it turns out to be too much than you can handle we can work out some sort of agreement. You being a single woman, I mean."

"Oh, don't _remind_ me!" she cried melodramatically while clinging to him. "It's so difficult to find a man's man, you know, someone who'll watch over and protect you and whisper sweet-somethings into your ear…"

James removed himself from her grip and smiled at her coolly. "I'm happily married, ma'am; sorry to disappoint you."

The woman sighed. "…Why are the cutes ones always taken…?" She glanced at the toilet and rolled her eyes. "I purposely busted it to call you out. I'll fix it. Do you, by any chance, know of any other plumbers?"

"We're not exactly plumbers, ma'am. _Sunderland and Stone's_ performs a variety of tasks, whether they be plumbing or repairing your refrigerator, or-,"

"_Jim_! You in here?" bellowed a loud voice from the hallway. James stepped out of the restroom and beckoned for the owner of the voice to come forward.

"Great timing, Frank. It was a false alarm."

"You serious?" Frank peeked into the restroom and shrugged. "Oh well, no big deal. I wish you would've told me you were coming, though. I went right to your apartment!"

"I _did_ tell you, but you were too drunk last night to remember, I guess."

Frank chuckled and slapped James on the back. "You crack me up, James!" He then turned his attention to the woman. "Well, ma'am, if there's nothing to be done here, we'll be on our way!"

As they departed, the woman ran after them screaming, "Don't go, _please_! _I'm so lonely_!"

---

"So, Jim, anything else that I need to hear about?" Frank asked as he lit another cigarette. James sighed disgustedly and swatted it out of Frank's hand, and the older man watched in surprise as it landed in a man's afro nearby. His hair immediately caught on fire and he darted past them, fanning at his hair in futile.

"Hey, look, it's _Flaming Afro Man_!" cheered a girl across the street, and soon a mob had begun to chase the poor man. James half-shrugged nonchalantly.

"You need to stop smoking those things, Frank," James told him sternly. "They'll be the death of you one day."

Frank laughed. "Actually Jim, sometimes I think _you'll _be the death of me! You're always nagging at me so much that I might just go _insane_!"

James shoved his hands into his coat pockets and gazed at the sidewalk thoughtfully. "…Don't say that, Frank. It's not funny at all."

Frank shook his head and clapped him on the shoulder lightly. "You just need to lighten up, Jim! You can't be so straight-laced!"

"Well if I'm not, who will be? Not you, for certain." He folded his arms and then bent his head upwards. "There is _something_, though. We got a call from out-of-town. Hear of Silent Hill?"

"That quiet, little resort town? Yeah, I've heard of it."

"We got a call from an antique shop there to do some work. Our client didn't specify exactly _what_ type of work, though…"

Frank thought this over, and then nodded. "Why not? I've never been there before, and supposedly it's pretty nice."

"Are you sure, Frank? This sounds a bit fishy to me. I don't want to leave Margaret-,"

"Margaret'll be fine," Frank reassured as he climbed into his vehicle. "Now come on and let's get going."

---

The Stones had been married for two years and resided in a dandy little condominium building somewhere in North Ashfield that had a nice, warm, welcoming feel to it. Contrary to what Frank believed, South Ashfield Heights did not share this feeling. It was a cold building, and it would only become colder in the next few decades.

"I still don't understand why you won't just move over to the 'Heights," Frank said as he peered out of the den window at the parking lot below. Some guy was struggling to take out a gigantic lawn gnome from his backseat.

"I don't feel like explaining," James replied as he shut his suitcase and locked it. "Besides, I really don't see why you're so obsessed with the damn place." While he said this Margaret Stone, who was beautiful with long, shining blonde golden hair and plump with the baby of James, handed Frank his cup of coffee on a saucer. He nodded a "Thank you" and took a sip.

"I don't expect you to understand, Jim, but the 'Heights have been my dream since I was a kid. It's what I live for, and some day I hope to pass it on to someone I can trust. It's more than just an apartment building. It's my legacy."

"But Frank, the 'Heights aren't going to be there forever. You've got to have something else to look forward to in life, I'm serious. I mean, what if someone buys the property from you, or it burns to the ground? What are you going to do then? In a few years you're going to be in your forties, and you're just going to be satisfied with yourself? You're not going to look for something new to achieve?"

The older man stared into the deep, black liquid that was his coffee. "…I don't know, Jim," he said solemnly, and Margaret looked at her husband from behind the kitchen area counter.

"Don't be so hard on him, Jimmy. Respect his feelings, really," she chastised him, and he sighed.

"I do, really I do… No, I'm sorry, Frank. What I said _was_ out-of-line."

"Nah, I know you're just looking out for me, Jim, and I appreciate it." There was silence in the room, aside from Margaret's sudden, cheery humming as she wiped the counter surface with a rag. Frank grinned when he acknowledged her. "You're looking very nice today, Margie, you and the little Stone. When he's going to be joining us?"

"Oh, one of these days," she answered gleefully, but her smile turned sour. "That's why I really don't want Jimmy to be leaving, even if it _is_ for only a few days at the most…"

James folded a shirt and tucked it neatly between two others in his second, smaller suitcase. "I'll be fine, I assure you, Margaret. What could possibly happen in a little tourist town? Besides, we'll be coming back as soon as possible."

"Yes, and I'll be watching out for him, too!" Frank stated happily, and they all laughed, even James. These were the good times that would pain Frank to remember.

---

"I'm worried about you, Jimmy," Margaret told her husband that night as they sat on the edge of their bed, side-by-side. On the comforter were images of different colored geese and ducks, and James never fancied it all that much. His white night-shirt hung loose around his somewhat small frame and in the shadows cast by the lamp he appeared menacing. He squeezed his wife's hand and offered her a small smile.

"I'm all right, really, I am. I wouldn't hide anything from you if something was wrong, do you hear me?" She nodded and leaned against his shoulder, stifling what was probably a sob.

"You've just seemed so… _distant_ these past few weeks. Is something bothering you? Anything at all?"

James fixed his gaze on the checkerboard-tiled floor and responded quietly, "There is, actually, something that's been on my mind for awhile now."

"What is it, then, Jimmy? Tell me, please."

"I…" He caressed her cheek gently and continued, "I don't think I can support us. You and the baby. I don't think I can serve you like you deserve to be served. In fact, I really think you deserve better, Margaret. Look at me, working at a worthless job with one of the only friends I have these days. It's pathetic.

"I've always wanted a family, a beautiful family who I could protect and cherish until I died, but now… now I don't think I'm up to it. Now that I have that beautiful family I always wanted…"

She held a finger to his lips and leaned closer to him. "Don't say another word, Jimmy. I married you because I _love _you, and I wouldn't share this life with any other man for the world. We'll work at it _together_, because we're a team, just like you and Frank are your own team when you're out there, against the world. But I think the most important question we have to ask ourselves is "When do we attack?"."

James smiled and kissed her lightly on the lips. "Thank you, Margaret, for everything."

---

"What's all this stuff, Jim?" Frank asked as he looked over the assortment of bags and cases that were stuffed in the trunk of his car in the parking lot of the condominium building.

James peeked over his shoulder and answered, "This all our equipment, Frank. We can't leave home without it." Frank shrugged and slammed the trunk door down and went on to check the few suitcases that were in the backseat. James looked back at his wife who was standing in the doorway. "We'll be back by the end of the week, Margaret, at the max. I'll call everyday. I promise."

"I know, I know," she said. "I just wish you didn't have to go. A few days can feel like an eternity."

"You're right about that," he said, and went to kiss her. Frank watched them expressionlessly as he lit another cigarette. Something about this didn't feel right to him, either, he decided, but a job was a job. They had to check this out. But the fact that another town got wind of their small, _local_ business sounded fishy to him. This was the first time they'd be heading out of Ashfield to do work.

"We're burning daylight, Jim, and we aren't getting it back," he said and James glanced back at him before kissing his wife one last time. Then he ran down to the car and slid into the passenger seat. Frank waved his goodbye—which was, unfortunately, truly going to be _goodbye_—and then climbed into the driver seat. He revved the engine and they were gone.

Margaret stood there for a bit before closing the door and going back to her room. As she got to her apartment she clutched her stomach. "Oh! You kicked…" She grinned and rubbed it gently. "I wonder what we should name you. Maybe Frank would have a suggestion…"

---

Neither Frank nor James had ever visited the town of Silent Hill before, and so they drove around for a bit after getting there. It was late afternoon when they arrived, and the town was rather lively. Children were busy frolicking over at the Lakeside Amusement Park, and couples were busy at Rosewater Park. The Silent Hill Historical Society was a museum located near Toluca Lake, and the two took a look there for a few minutes. While there James saw a painting in particular that ran chills down his spine. It was called 'Misty Days: Remains of the Judgment', and Frank studied it for a moment but didn't show much.

After that they rode around some more and came across _Green Lion Antique Shop_, which James pointed out was the store they had been contacted by. "Hmm, doesn't seem all that shabby, but I don't get what an antique shop would want with us."

"I don't know, but we didn't come all this way on a joy trip. I'll check in and see if anyone's here. You can go gas the car up and pick me up in about half an hour."

"You sure, Jim?"

"Yeah, I'll be fine. It's too late to work and I just want to handle the negotiations. I'll get it done pretty quickly." He left the car and adjusted his dark denim jacket. Frank nodded and drove away in the direction where he hoped there was a gas station. James drew a breath and entered the antique shop.

It was devoid of any workers, as far as he saw. The light was on, and the entrance door was unlocked. He looked behind the sales counter and saw nothing aside from a few stray pieces of ancient jewelry. In fact, the store was actually rather messy, and many items were strewn about without any proper place.

"Anyone here?" James called, but he was hesitant to proceed any deeper in the building. 'Maybe they _are_ closed for the day, but why would-,' His train of thought was cut off when he spotted a medallion of some sort resting on a shelf on the wall. It stood apart from all the other junk surrounding it, and he moved closer to get a better look. It was a large, silver circular slab with some type of design etched into its surface. For some reason it allured James, and as he was about to take it into his hands a door opened from behind him and a woman strode out.

He spun around instantly, the medallion still clutched in his hand. Its chain dangled from in-between his fingers and gleamed in the sunlight that came in through the window. "Can I help you, sir?" she asked, and James saw that her clothing was radically different from what he saw most of the citizens wearing around here. She was buried under a number of differing colored shawls and underneath them was a dress of some type of deep-shaded mauve.

"Uh, yes, ma'am," he said, "I am James Stone of _Sunderland and_-,"

"…_Stone's_," she finished. "Yes, I thought it was you who had come." Her eyes wandered over him and found the medallion in his hand. "Ah, you have quite a good eye."

He looked down at the medallion in his hand and brought it up to view. "Yes, I meant to ask what exactly this was."

"Oh, I'm not entirely sure myself," she said. "An elderly man just walked in one day and left with us. He said it was related to the angel, Metatron."

"Metatron?" James looked at the medallion again and the woman smiled deceptively.

"You can take it, if you'd like. You came all the way out here to work, and I have to praise such determination and dedication. Tomorrow we can go over the details of our agreement, Mr. Stone."

He reluctantly nodded but handed her back the medallion. "I suppose it would better suit the job if we talked it over once we get some rest, but I can't accept this. It wouldn't be right."

"No, I insist," the woman said, and placed it in his hand. "Think of it as a token of my gratitude. I live by myself, you see, and getting quality help is so hard these days. I really am grateful that you took the time to come all this way. Please, take it."

James looked at it again and sighed. "Alright, then. Thank you."

"Oh, _thank you_, Mr. Stone," she said and then extended a hand. "Dahlia Gillespie, the owner of this humble establishment."

James shook her hand. "Nice to meet you, Miss Gillespie. By the way, would it be alright with you if I surveyed your shop? I'd like to know the layout at least."

"Of course, right this way." She gestured toward the door she had come through and he followed her.

---

Frank filled the gas tank up at a place called _Texxon Gas_ and after that he drove around some more and saw a little place named _Café Mist_. He stopped here for a coffee, and he decided to pick one up for James as well.

The café's interior was small as well, and there were only several people who needed caffeine that late that day. As he made his way to the front counter, a woman turned to leave with a bag in her hand which seemed to contain some pastries and most likely two coffee cups. Frank barely saw her face when she tripped towards him, the bag flying out of her hand. He caught it expertly with his left hand and then caught her by the waist with his right, masterfully presenting the bag to her.

A man sipping his drink at a corner-table muttered, "Show off."

The woman, who had no idea of what had happened, merely stared at him with a gleam in her eyes. Frank cleared his throat and set her straight on her feet as he gave her the bag. "You nearly had a fall there, miss," he said, and she looked down at the bag.

"…Thank you, sir." They remained like that for some moments, and Frank saw how _beautiful_ she was. She had striking blue eyes, and her brown hair—nearly black it was, and much darker than his own—curled gracefully down to her shoulders. Her black coat was long and buttoned and cut at her calves. She rushed past him and out of the door, and Frank stared as she disappeared.

"That Miriam's a sweet girl, sir," said the clerk behind the counter. "I hope you're not too upset with her."

"I'm not upset," Frank replied as he walked up to the register. "An accident's an accident."

---

"We'll be coming by at around nine o' clock tomorrow morning," James told Dahlia as he left the antique shop. Frank was waiting outside, standing by the car and smoking. In the driver's seat sat a lump of a brown bag, which was no doubt the coffee and a cake.

Dahlia appraised him as she met them outside. "You really shouldn't be smoking, Mr. Sunderland." He didn't like her at all, for one thing. She was pretty creepy. And who was she to tell him what to do and what not to do?

"Thanks for the advice, lady," he said rudely, "but I think I'll trust my doctor's opinion rather than yours." He was about to flick the cigarette away and a part of him wanted to burn that damn shop to the ground. He flicked it anyway, as subtly as he could, but Dahlia caught it in her hand with reflexes much quicker than would be expected of her.

"You should dispose of it properly, Mr. Sunderland."

"Right." He snatched it from her and threw it into the street, where it was run over by a passing car. James glanced at them and pulled Frank towards the car.

"We'll see you tomorrow morning, Miss Gillespie. Don't worry about your piping; we'll make it as good as new."

"Thank you, Mr. Stone."

They got into the vehicle and went on their way. A robed fellow approached Dahlia from behind. "Would you like us to take care of them, Mother?"

"Only the idiot one. He seems dangerous. Leave Stone alive."

"Ah, wonderful. He should be easy prey."

"I agree. Now go."

---

"What was your problem back there, Frank?" James inquired as the sun began to set. Frank averted his eyes from his assistant's and sighed.

"I'm sorry, Jim, it's just that I've been edgy ever since I picked up our coffee." James removed his cappuccino's straw from his lips and sighed.

"She's our client, Frank, like it or not. She's rather nice, actually."

"Not from what I saw of her. Did you get a good look at her eyes?" Frank shivered. "There was something wrong with that place, I swear. Maybe we should just leave tomorrow morning…"

"_What_? Frank, we didn't come all this way for nothing. The sooner we get the job done, the sooner we can leave, so we can be gone by late noon tomorrow, I'm sure."

They were quiet for awhile until Frank saw the medallion hanging around James' neck. "Jim," he said, keeping his eyes on the road, "what's _that_?"

James glanced at the medallion and held it up in the dying light of the sun. "That Gillespie woman gave it to me for free."

"Are you serious? You should get rid of it. It could have some type of hoodoo curse on it or something. That lady was a witch or something; did you see the way she dressed? She's a witch!"

"Frank, what the hell's crawled up your anus?"

The older man sighed. "I don't know, Jim. I guess I _am_ being a bit paranoid…"

"Frank." He looked at James who nodded at the side-view mirror. Frank looked at the rear-view mirror for a better look.

"How many are there, Jim?" he asked in a hushed voice. James held up four fingers. "Four, not bad."

James cocked an eyebrow in bewilderment. "Frank, they're riding bicycles."

"Bicycles?"

"Yeah… no, wait, _tricycles_."

They had been cruising at a steady twenty-miles-per-hour, and now two of the four riders covered their rear while the other two flanked them. They were all roved in black, and Frank thought of that Miriam girl for a moment. But only for a moment.

"Jim, take the wheel," Frank ordered, his tone growing suddenly grave. He hopped over to the passenger seat as James slid into the driver's. Fast as lightning, Frank undid the glove compartment and a large revolver was in his right hand. It was mostly dark now, the sun having set and only leaving a thin line of pink on the horizon. Frank thumbed the revolver and squeezed the trigger.

The man who had been covering the right of the car's rear was blown away, his tricycle skidding on the asphalt. His body landed a little ways from it, bloody and dead.

"Nice shot, Frank!" Jim praised, and the man nodded thankfully as he readied the gun for a second shot. The man to their immediate right removed a small pistol from his robe.

"They're armed!" he shouted, and Frank aimed the barrel at him. He shot but the man strayed back, just barely avoiding the bullet. He fired twice, but James expertly swerved the car to the right, knocking one of the men away and giving enough space so that the two bullets harmlessly hit the side door.

"My new paint job!" Frank exclaimed as the man was about to fire again. "You'll pay for that one!" He pulled the trigger and the man's hand dissolved, and the pistol was lost. He fell out of the tricycle, cradling his bleeding stump of a hand as Frank trained the revolver on the last of their attackers.

"No, don't! Please! I have a daugh-,"

He was treated with a cold obliteration.

James stopped the car some ways ahead and got out as Frank did. "I wonder who they were? Thieves, or-,"

"Servants," Frank said, and James gasped.

"You're not serious Frank. Do you really believe Gillespie is the one behind this?"

"What's so unbelievable about it? She was the only one to see us go."

"But Frank, why would she do it?"

"Who knows? Now come on, if she _did_ send them after us one of those guys I left alive. No doubt he'll report back to her. Now let's get out of here." He placed the revolver back into the glove compartment and got behind the steering wheel. James sighed, took one last look back at the carnage, and then slipped into the passenger's side.

---

Dahlia Gillespie was drinking some nice, warm tea when the robed man who had been assigned with disposing of Frank Sunderland stumbled in to the antique shop. He fell against the counter and Dahlia walked around it and faced him. "Well? Is he dead?"

"No. He pulled out a mighty weapon against us, similar to the ones Gast collects. His skill was godly."

"…I see. What of the others?"

"Everyone else was torn asunder by his tool of destruction. Even Stern, whose daughter was born just a week ago."

"Stern is watching over us from Heaven with God, of course," Dahlia said. "He showed his devotion to God by fighting with you this day, and his family shall know of his courage."

"…I know, Mother, but what about this man? He could very well become a problem if not taken care of."

"I'm aware of that. Go clean and yourself up. I will alert Father Wolf about this in the meantime."

The man nodded and got to his feet before exiting the store. Dahlia moved back behind the counter and grabbed her cup of tea. "How interesting. Mr. Frank Sunderland, was it? Hmm…"

**END EPISODE ONE**

_DISCLAIMER: I do not own 'Silent Hill' or any related material. 'Silent Hill' is owned by Konami and I make no profit off of this work whatsoever._**  
**


	2. Episode Two

**SILENT HILL: Prelude to a Crappy Plotline; Episode Two**

"Frank, put that cigarette out, please," Jim said as he flipped through the borderline pornographic channels on the television. "You're going to throw the fire alarm off or something." He sat up on the bed in the motel room and turned the TV off. "Besides, there's nothing good on TV. It's all porno."

"Well put it back on, Jim!" Frank commanded from within the restroom as he shaved. "We don't get to see that stuff back home!" He carefully slid the razor over his throat.

"For your information, Frank, I'm _married_," James responded as he pulled out from his travel bag an aged novel that was most likely pornographic in some way. As he took the bookmark out and started to read Frank stepped out of the restroom and looked about himself while continuing to shave.

"I really think we should leave tomorrow, Jim. We're obviously wanted on someone's death-list," he said ominously.

"We're not leaving tomorrow, Frank, and if it bothers you so much I'll do the job myself," James replied sternly. He shut his book closed and made to turn the lamp beside the beds off. "And if that's the case I better turn in."

Frank sighed and went back into the restroom to finish shaving. James switched the lamp off and the motel room was engulfed in darkness. Above him the ceiling fan spun around and around. James frowned and slid underneath the sheets and covers of the small bed and tried to sleep.

---

"I'll be fine on my own, Frank. It didn't seem like it was that big of a job anyway."

"It doesn't matter, Jim. If _anything_ seems iffy you get out of there and find me."

"Sure, I know, but where are you going to go in the meantime?"

"Eh, I don't know. Look about the town, maybe buy some souvenirs. There's a tenant of mine that likes to travel and he and his wife like to collect those little snowball thingies."

"…They're snow globes, Franks."

"Right. Snow globes."

They entered the main building and headed for the reception desk, where a man with bright, curly strawberry hair and a green uniform was standing. He pressed his golden-rimmed spectacles up the bridge of his nose and smiled deceptively at the two. Frank fished around in his pocket and brought out their room key. "Hey, could you handle this for us while we're out?"

The man nodded professionally and took the key. "Of course, sir. I hope you enjoy your day." They turned and made to walk out but the receptionist hailed them. "Oh, and sir—if you happen to be searching for souvenirs, perchance, the amusement park has quite a variety of little trinkets; I'm sure you'd be able to find _something_ that tickles your fancy there."

Frank blinked. "How did you-," he started to say, but James clamped his hand on his shoulder rather roughly.

"We'll take that into consideration, sir," he said, and directed Frank towards the door. "Thank you for the suggestion."

"My pleasure," and as they left he turned to the telephone behind the counter and inputted a short, four-digit number. He held the receiver to his ear and waited for something before saying, "Yes, they just left. I told them to visit the amusement park, just as you instructed. Are they armed? I don't know…" There was a pause and then a sudden bark on the other end. The man hopped back in response and nodded curtly several times, but it's not as if his superior could see him. "Yes, yes, I'll make sure immediately." He hung the phone up and shuffled about the small space before finding Frank and James' key. When he found it he looked around and spotted a woman reading the newspaper on a bench against the wall. He tilted his head at her, and she tilted hers back, and then he was out of there and gliding towards Room #104.

Once he arrived at the desired room he unlocked the door quickly and zipped inside. He was fast in his movements; he burned through the mattresses and closet, and then he looked into their travel bags. Most were locked, but some were only zippered closed. He glanced into these and saw nothing all that suspicious. Just some garments and small commodities; no firearms or ammunition like what had been reported. But he doubted the two were stupid enough to leave weapons in easily accessible travel bags and suitcases. And from what _was_ reported, it was easy to assume that they were carrying their weapons with them or had them in the vehicle. Oh well. Better safe than sorry.

The man—whose true identity will be left unknown and be called Diego from this point onward—left to inform his superior.

---

Frank left James at the antique shop like he had the previous day and the younger man entered it with his bag of tools in one hand and his notepad in the other. "Miss Gillespie? Miss Gillespie, are you here?" If she wasn't, the front door was unlocked again.

"Hmm…" James set his equipment down and looked over the counter. Nothing. James moved away and heard a peculiar squishing noise from above him. He glanced up and saw a horrifying sight. A massive slug, covered in green, sticky slime was clinging to an air vent. It was humongous, and James backed away in fright. "What in the furry-,"

Before he had a chance to finish, and to his shock, the slug propelled itself from the vent and latched directly onto his face. James screamed and screamed again, clawing uselessly at the thing to rip it off. He stumbled to the side and crashed into the shelves on the wall, sending down all of the objects. As he did this one of the shelves seemed to nudge to the right due to the impact; the wall gave way from behind him and he fell down a small set of stairs, all the while trying to remove the mollusk from his face.

He successfully separated it and threw it to the floor upon hitting the altar at the bottom of the steps. The slug fell on it back but somehow flipped upright. James crawled away from it and squinted at it in disgust and horror.

"What type of demon-spawn _are_ you?" he asked as it flew at him. He kicked it away and then proceeded to stomp on it, cursing fervently as he did so. "Burn in hell!" he muttered harshly when a light reflected off his face. He raised his hand to block it unconsciously but then turned to see what the source was. It was a candle… two, in fact.

James suddenly became aware of his surroundings. He had fallen down some steps and a short stretch of corridor when he bumped into the altar that took up most of the space in this small area. Lifting his foot carefully from the puddle of slime he inspected the altar that stood before him. Some sort of strange statue was standing on the dusted, red cloth that was spread over the surface of the altar. James touched the medallion around his neck lightly.

"What in the world is this…?" he mumbled when above him a door opened and closed. James frantically spun around and hurried back up. Fortunately, no one was in the lobby, and if someone had been they would have checked in to see what was down there. He quickly scoured around the shelves and luckily managed to press the right shelf; the wall closed up again, and then he began to gather up the fallen antiques and deposit them back on the shelves.

As he did so a girl came in from the hallway, dusting off her apron from a trip she had sustained earlier. She saw James and cleared her throat. "Uh, can I help you, sir?" He didn't look back at first. She tentatively tapped him on the shoulder and he whipped around almost immediately.

"Who-what-when-where…!"

"Sir, please calm down!" the girl said, and James slowly calmed down. He chuckled nervously and she ventured a question. "Are you a customer, sir? I can take your purchase-,"

"No, is Miss Gillespie in?"

"Oh no, she's out. I'm only the caretaker."

"Ah. Well, I'll take my leave then. Would you mind cleaning that up? I bumped into it by accident when I came in." He patted her lightly on the arm and then left. She surveyed the damage and sighed.

"What a strange man…"

Upon leaving the shop James was suddenly stricken by an extreme hunger. His stomach growled fiercely and he headed for the nearest restaurant; he had time to spare, too. Frank wouldn't expect him to be done with the work—if it would've been done today, and James didn't bother to think he could've done _something_—for another two hours at the least. That was enough time to pick up some food.

He spotted a Happy Burger nearby and made his way there. As predicted, inside was a grand bustle of customers ordering hamburgers and milkshakes and French fries. But James didn't want any of that. He felt like eating a soup, and if Happy Burger was the world's largest fast food chain, then shouldn't they have soup? This was an illogical idea, of course, but he didn't see what was wrong with it. Having an oversized slug fall on his face had made him hungry and had temporarily stopped him from thinking straight.

"Excuse me, but do you all sell soup?" he asked the cashier casually enough. At once everything fell silent. All eating, conversing, and overall living ceased. Yes, some people died. A little ways behind the front counter a dark-skinned man walked out; he was shakily holding a glass bottle.

"_Joo wan' soup_?" he demanded furiously while breaking the bottle across the surface of a nearby burner. James wasn't fazed by it.

"I was just asking. I mean, if you did you'd appeal to a wider range of customers."

"No, _no_, do joo wan' soup?"

"…Yeah, that's why I'm asking."

The man fumed and turned away, shaking his fists violently as he did so. He shoved a finger in James' face, his eyes bloodshot and insane. "Does this look like a soup restaraun'? Does it, white-boy?"

James reared back and nodded. The man removed his red-and-black cap and ran a hand over his shiny, bald head. "And joo still came, eh? _EH_?"

"I just wanted to ask, that's-,"

"Get out."

"Wait-,"

"Get out. GET OUT. Get the chit out of my store! Get _THE CHIT OUT OF MY STORE_!"

"But it isn't a store-,"

"_GET OUT_! _JOO WANT SOUP_? _HERE'S YOUR SOUP_!" The man grasped a cheeseburger from behind him and flung it at James. It hit him in the face and he held up his arms to protect himself. "THERE'S YOUR SOUP, NOW GET OUT!"

Even after all of this, James _still_ wasn't thinking straight. "That wasn't soup!" he cried as the entire restaurant became a war zone. All around him people were throwing their food, trying to rid themselves of this filth. To rid themselves of this _outcast_.

"_NO SOUP FOR JOO_!" the man shouted one last time as James was hurled outside. "**_NO SOUP FOR JOO_**!"

---

After Frank had left James at the antique shop he had decided to follow the receptionist's suggestion and visit Lakeside Amusement Park. It was nice place, sure. Children were just being their annoying little selves and riding all the rides and running around bothering the adults. Frank parked and started towards the souvenir shop. Once inside Frank let out a long whistle.

Rabbits. Everywhere. There were figurines and toys of rabbits, shirts with logos of rabbits, and even _cookies_ with rabbits on them! "Is it a mascot or something…?" Frank murmured as he walked through the aisles, browsing. He found the snow gloves easily enough; they came in a variety. The same anthropomorphic rabbit wearing overalls was in each of them, and he was giving presents to kids with a Santa hat on in one, setting off a firecracker in another, and cutting a turkey in yet another. Frank scratched his stubble. This was hardly scratching the surface. Thankfully he found one without the mascot, and it depicted Lakeview Hotel, and the words **_SILENT HILL_** were etched into the base of the globe. Frank took this one and shook it around a bit before taking it to the cashier, who put a smile on and found its price quickly.

"Hey," Frank said, genuinely curious, "is that rabbit your park's mascot or something? He's everywhere."

The clerk laughed and replied, "He's Robbie, Robbie the Rabbit. The kids love him, and he's been the park's mascot for I don't know how long."

Frank nodded, handed her the cash, received his change and receipt, and then was out of there. He stopped outside to light a smoke when an ice cream cart rolled up to him on squeaky, rusted wheels. Frank cast a glance at it and wasn't surprised; the proprietor was dressed in a Robbie the Rabbit costume, it just wasn't pink like all the rest. It was yellow.

"Hey, Robbie," Frank said in an attempt to be interested, "do you want to sell me some ice cream?"

The rabbit nodded, but didn't speak. This unnerved Frank just the slightest bit, and he leaned forward to get a better look at the cart's contents. "Robbie" slid it open and revealed that it was stocked full of ice cream bars, although they were all the same type. Frank took one and examined it. The wrapper was illustrated with an ice cream bar that resembled Robbie's face, except the eyes were just two black gumballs. A wooden stick was jammed into it beneath the chin. And it was pink. Not yellow. Frank sighed in relief, as if this was reassuring of something. That it was normal for Robbie to be pink and not yellow.

He looked up and "Robbie" was just staring at him. Frank turned away and saw someone he recognized instantly looking out over the railing at the lake some ways off. He held up two fingers and "Robbie" nodded again in that same slow, patient manner. It retrieved another bar from within the cart and then closed it, which Frank would later ponder, was odd. Why hadn't "Robbie" closed after the first bar? Had it known Frank would be requesting a second?

Frank held both of the bars in one hand while he fished around for his wallet, but "Robbie" shook a fat, furry yellow finger. Frank stopped at once and "Robbie" spread his arms out abruptly, as if to say it was his lucky day, and then wheeled his cart away. Frank was puzzled, but he shrugged it off and approached the woman that was overlooking the lake. He held the bar out to her and she gasped in slight surprise, turning to see him standing there with the stupidest grin on his face.

"Would you like the ice cream? I don't really want it." She just kept on staring at him with wide eyes, and he half-expected her to run off. "Your name's Miriam, right? I'm Frank. Frank Sunderland."

She was silent for another moment before gradually taking the bar in her hand and giggling. "Where, where are my manners? Yes, my name is Miriam." She averted her gaze from him and instead looked at the wrapped bar. "Um, did you need something, Mr. Sunderland? You didn't need to get me this, by the way."

"Don't sweat it about the ice cream; it was free," he said while lighting the smoke "Robbie" had stopped just minutes before. The other bar went into his jacket. Miriam looked at the cigarette and then at the ice cream. Frank took a drag. "And you looked kind of lonely over here all by yourself, so I decided to keep you company. Oh yeah, don't worry about what happened yesterday."

She nodded quickly several times. Frank chuckled and took another drag. "Aren't you going to eat it?" he asked upon seeing the Robbie bar still wrapped. "It'll melt soon. Do you like it? It was the only one the, uh… guy had. Yeah."

"Oh, yes," she answered meekly. "They're my favorite actually, it's just… I can't accept this. I don't deserve a gift."

"Don't think of it as a gift, then," Frank said. "Think of it as like… something you found on the ground. It's yours now, so you might as well eat it."

Her head bobbed finally and she unwrapped the Robbie bar very meticulously. Frank studied this closely; he would've just torn the damned thing off and stuffed the bar into his mouth. Margaret would've done the same, but now that he though about it, James acted similar to Miriam. He wouldn't take such care with it, but he wouldn't rip it off like nothing. Opposites. They attracted, didn't they?

She glanced around for some trash bin, and Frank took the—folded—wrapper and let it fall to the ground, where it was whisked away by the wind. Miriam didn't notice this act since she was so focused on the ice cream bar. Frank saw her muttering something under her breath and he strained to hear it—a prayer. It was a prayer. After it was over she gave the bar a small lick, and then another.

Frank sighed and dragged. "Why do you that? The prayer, I mean." He sucked on the rolled paper. This question seemed to strike her in a way that he could only interpret as surprise. It was a simple question, really. Why should she react so?

"…I've never really thought about that," she said. "That's just the way I've been taught my whole life. Don't you do it?"

"Pray?" Frank laughed at this as he plucked the cigarette out of his mouth. "Nah, I've never been a religious type of guy. My parents were, sure, and I was raised that way, yeah, but where was God when my little sister died before she was even born? Where was he? I used to pray a lot when I was a kid, even after it was over, and I would wait for some type of response. Did I get one? No. Did I keep on praying? Yeah. Did it matter? Like hell if I know." He lit another smoke.

Miriam was wide-eyed, but she said nothing. Frank looked at her and cleared his throat. "I didn't mean any offense, just got a bit carried away there…"

She didn't reply to this at once. "The Sisters… they say that God has a plan for each of us, so what happened to your sister… It was for a greater purpose, I'm sure."

"…'Greater purpose'?" Frank chuckled. "Maybe it was, maybe it wasn't. I can't say. All I know is that if you can't see it, can't hear it, can't touch it, can't _rely_ on it, then you shouldn't put your faith in it, and that's what I believe, so amen." He flicked the cigarette out into the lake and she let out a small gasp. He sighed and placed his hands on his hips tiredly.

"Um…" Miriam bowed her head. "I'm sorry…"

"What? Oh no, it's not your fault," Frank told her. "I just… I really didn't mean to trouble you." She shook her head.

"No, I'm fine… it's just that I live at the church, and hearing you talk like that… I'm just not used to it, that's all."

"Church?" Frank asked, and she nodded.

"Yes. I'm training to become a Sister one day," she responded. Frank nodded.

"To each his own, I guess," he said, and she bit into the bar. They were silent for a moment, and that's when someone came towards them.

"Ah, Miriam, what a pleasure seeing you out here today. And it seems you have a friend." Immediately Frank's expression turned stony. He took out another cigarette as the man neared.

He looked suspicious, actually. Tall and intimidating, and he stood straight with his shoulders tucked back. He was wearing a black suit, with a red shirt underneath. His hair—which was so light it was _nearly_ white—was neatly combed over. But it was only grown on the top of his head. The back of his head was as bare as a baby's bottom.

"Father Wolf!" Miriam greeted with a quick bow of the head. Frank cocked an eyebrow. The man took one of her hands in his and shook it momentarily, then faced Frank and extended his hand.

"I don't believe we've met, sir. My name is Leonard Wolf." He was smiling, but his eyes weren't.

Frank shook his hand firmly and looked him square in the eye. "Frank Sunderland."

"Ah." Leonard released his grip and clasped his hands behind his back. "And would I be right in presuming you are a tourist?"

"You'd be half right," Frank said. "I'm here on work." He took a drag and blew the smoke out to his left.

"I see. Well, it is not my place to pry." He glanced at Miriam, who was just about done with her Robbie bar. "Miriam, aren't you supposed to be on duty? The Sisters wouldn't appreciate tardiness… or perhaps you're not late…?"

"If she's in any type of trouble, don't blame her for it," Frank said speedily. "I'm the one who's been holding her up. In fact," he snuffed his cigarette out, "I'll take her to wherever she needs to go, so you don't have to worry."

Leonard grinned and held an open hand out to Frank. "I'll leave it to you then, Mr. Sunderland. Miriam can tell you where to go and how to get there." He bowed politely and then went off. His pace was fast and rough. Once he made it to the entrance gates he stopped. Idling nearby was "Robbie", and Leonard motioned behind him. "You know what to do."

"Robbie" nodded in his way and then Leonard was gone. Afterwards "Robbie" disappeared into the crowd.

Meanwhile, Frank was smoking yet again. "You don't have to take me, Mr. Sunderland. The ice cream bar was enough, I assure you."

"Don't worry about it," Frank replied. He stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Is that man involved with the church, too?"

"Yes, Father Wolf is a priest at out church. He's one of our more prominent brothers. Sometimes… sometimes he breaks out in rather intense tirades, and he _has_ reacted violently to a Sister before, I know that much, but he has our best interests in mind."

"…Are you sure about that?"

"Yes."

"Well…" Frank dragged. "Do you mind if we go pick up my assistant first? After that I'll take you to your church."

"That'd be fine."

And so they were on the road, riding out of the amusement park and in the direction of the antique shop. They didn't have to drive that far.

"Jim, what the hell are you doing out here?" Frank called from the car as he pulled over on the side of the street. James, who was walking down the sidewalk, saw his friend and made his way towards the car. Miriam trained her eyes on him from the passenger seat.

"Oh, hey Frank," James greeted as he came up to the side of the automobile. Frank's brow went up.

"Jim, you don't look so good." It was true. James was covered with soda, lettuce, and some pickles and other condiments. His hair was tousled. On his cheek was a small yet nasty red mark that resembled some type of bite.

He looked over himself and shrugged. "It's no big deal; I'll fill you in later. Anyway, it turns out that Miss Gillespie wasn't in, so we'll have to check in later. For now I just want to clean up." He climbed into the backseat and leaned back, throwing his arms around the top of the seats. He smiled at Miriam. "Hi."

"Hello."

Then they were on the road again, taking in the sights of the town and its citizens as they went. Miriam pointed out several key locations—Frank would be grateful for this information later on—but Frank did not notice the ice cream cart—and its proprietor—at every or so corner they rounded, and when they passed by Rosewater Park, Miriam stopped him.

"I'd like to go and see the lake for a few minutes, if that'd be all right with you," she said, and Frank nodded. James was already out of the car and heading for the park entrance. Frank and Miriam joined him.

The park was almost a small labyrinth, with tourist couples walking to and fro. They were eyed bashfully by Miriam, ignored by James, and dragged upon by Frank, who was, you guessed it, smoking another of his cancer sticks. When they made it to portion that was overlooking the lake, Miriam broke away from the two men and leaned over the railing, taking in the fresh air.

"The view of the lake here is so wonderful. It's best by the hotel by the lake, though; did you two get a room there?"

"Nah, we got a crappy one at Jack's Inn," Frank replied. "They have porno though, right Jim? You were the one watching and all."

"I wasn't watching it, Frank," James said, his normal countenance returning steadily.

Strangely, no one else was in this particular area, at least for the moment. Frank stuck his cigarette in his mouth and walked over to Miriam. He captured the lake's image and stored it in his mind; it really _was_ beautiful. James was the only who stayed back, and he was the first to notice the forms that began to surround them.

"Frank," he said, and the older man nodded. Miriam glanced at both of them, uncertain about what was happening.

"Excuse me, but-,"

"So nice to see you again, you damned plumbers."

From out the walkway behind them a cloaked man strode out. His right hand was secured under his left arm, and his hood was down. The other six men that had imprisoned them in that area drew guns and readied crossbows. Frank motioned for Miriam, but she recognized the man instantly.

"Colbert, what are you doing?" she inquired, and the man held up his right arm, and where the hand had been was nothing more than a stump covered by a black cloth.

"Miriam, I would ask you the same thing. Why are you with these heretics? They attack us!"

"Wrong," Frank said. "You attacked _us_. We just defended ourselves."

"Is this true, Colbert? Why would you do such a thing?"

"I was ordered to, Miriam. These men are dangerous! They threaten our religious community, and even the restoration of God!" He removed a switchblade from his cloak with his left hand. "Besides, this is payback. Those men you killed were good friends of mine, and I will not allow their deaths to be in vain!" He rushed at Frank, but James stepped in-between the two and caught the man's wrist. He twisted it roughly and Colbert cried out as the knife hit the ground. James kicked him in the gut and sent him sprawling on all fours before socking him.

"Stop, please! Don't hurt him!" Miriam shouted, but Frank pushed her back as the other men fired their weapons and dove in. His revolver was out in a flash, and so were two of their enemies; they were dead before the allies even knew what hit them.

Meanwhile, because Miriam had distracted him, James was tackled to the ground by Colbert and was punched hard across the jaw. His attacker reached hysterically for the switchblade, but James had his hand on it first. He stabbed Colbert in the shoulder, pushed him off, drew _his_ revolver—Frank had one of the pair and he had given the other to James—and pulled the trigger. Colbert, for the most part, was gone.

Frank expertly avoided the attacks from the others while shooting them away. Miriam witnessed this in terror as her brothers—people she knew and had grown up with—were killed in the blink of an eye. However, some part of her deep down inside wasn't angry with Frank and James, but rather with her Brothers; hadn't they attacked _them_ without justification? This was karma.

She was thinking this when someone grasped her by the arms. She screamed, "_Frank_!" and it came out without much thought. At the sound of his name Frank turned and launched his cigarette at her capturer, and he gasped upon realizing who it was: "Robbie". The cigarette sunk into the costume's left eye and burned it to a crisp. Miriam ran to the two men and James thumbed the revolver.

"I'll take him, Frank!" he exclaimed while shooting. Frank and Miriam moved away hastily as the bullet flew right at "Robbie", but it tilted its head to the side and avoided the bullet entirely. "Robbie" moved its head from side-to-side mockingly and then dashed towards James at a startling speed. He rolled to the left to get out of their adversary's way. Frank aimed his revolver and James did the same. They fired. James' bullet was evaded, but Frank's was true; the right shoulder of "Robbie" was blown away, and the thing hobbled back. It shrugged quickly and then somersaulted into the air to a far-off location.

"What was _that_?" James asked. "And that speed… there's no way a human could be that fast…" Frank remained quiet, and then he turned to Miriam.

"Are you okay? That thing didn't hurt you, did it?"

"…No," she said timidly, and sighed. "I—I don't understand why they would attack you. You're good people from what I've seen. You haven't done anything to them before, have you?"

Frank shook his head. "Yesterday that man and some of his cronies assaulted us out on the street. We didn't do anything. Hell, we don't even know who they are!"

"They're…" Miriam trailed off and then she shook her head. "Never mind it. You two should leave. If they went after you once, they might do it again. You're in danger."

Frank chuckled. "Oh, you're just like Jim! Paranoid about everything!"

James' eyebrow went up. "Frank, you were the one paranoid about being attacked yesterday. In fact, you're the one who wanted to leave! It seems like ever since you met Miriam you've been acting different."

"That's crazy, Jim," Frank said as he slapped the younger man in the back of the head. Miriam watched them interestedly. Frank laughed and gestured forward. "Come on, let's get out of here!"

---

"So… you neglected killing him for risk of bodily harm?" Dahlia sighed from her place at the table. "Robbie" was by the entrance of the room and it lowered its head shamefully. Leonard was sitting opposite her and he laughed.

"I met him myself, Dahlia; there is no way Mr. Sunderland will be a threat, I assure you. Colbert was unfit for the task, that's all."

Another man sitting at the table giggled maniacally. He pushed his small, violet-tinted glasses up the bridge of his nose with his white-gloved hand. "Why don't you allow _me_ to take care of him? It's been quite awhile since I've had a good challenge, and I am growing very thirsty for blood…"

"You're too much of a liability to send out into the open town, obviously," the man sitting across from him said. "You'd slaughter innocents."

"Don't flatter yourself, Michael," Leonard said. "You wouldn't know an innocent soul from a guilty one. It doesn't matter to you unless you receive your share of the kill. And you know very well what I mean."

Michael Kaufmann was silenced by this, and no one said a word until a newcomer entered the dark room.

"…I'll take care of this Sunderland," the woman said coolly, and Leonard nodded several times.

"Yes, you'll be more than enough for him!" he said, and the woman brushed aside a strand of her incredibly long raven hair. Her white dress swayed behind her as she smiled and departed the chamber, leaving the other members of The Organization's Elite to discuss other matters.

**END EPISODE TWO**


	3. Episode Three

Frank and James drove off, leaving Miriam by the Historical Society to walk the rest of the distance to the church. They'd offered to drive her the rest of the way, but she declined, saying it was better if she went on her own. She had another reason for this, as well. If the Organization really desired to kill them they had to be kept away from the church. That was the only way to ensure their safety… for now at least.

In the front yard of the church she saw a woman, dressed in an impressive white robe, sitting on her knees with her hands clasped tightly together in her lap and her eyes squeezed—just as tightly—shut. Her extensive black hair was stretched out all over herself.

"Sister Samantha," Miriam said with a smile as she approached. The woman opened her eyes and returned the smile ten times over.

"Good day to you, Miriam. How was the lake today?"

"Oh, it was splendid, thank you very much."

"That's wonderful to hear. You'd best be heading on inside now—you've arrived in the nick of time for your duties."

"Yes, I'll go on. It was nice to see you!"

"Likewise. I should be on my way, myself," Samantha said while standing. Miriam looked behind her at the way she had come in, and from the look on her face she was worried.

"Where are you going?" she asked.

"It's just some business I have to attend to. You needn't worry about it." Miriam seemed to think this over, figured the matter shouldn't be pressed—although the matter was suspicious to her—and then nodded before going back towards the building. Samantha watched her go. Another few minutes of meditation wouldn't hurt. The day was still young.

**SILENT HILL: Prelude to a Crappy Plotline; Episode Three**

"I'd like to get five boxes of ammo for this." James brought out his revolver and showed it to the gun store's clerk: a bald, fat man with a heavy mustache. Over his mandarin-colored shirt was a large white apron. He stroked his mustache and whistled.

"That sure is a nice gun, my friend. Where's its sister?"

"He has it." James gestured over his shoulder at Frank, who was test-holding a rifle. When he realized he was being seen, Frank waved at the clerk and pointed at the rifle.

"How does this handle? You tried it out?"

"I haven't, sir, but I've seen it in action; it's one of the best weapons we've got in stock, if fits your tastes."

"Not really," he replied. "I was just curious. You almost done, Jim?"

"Yes." He turned back to the clerk. "Make that _six_ boxes, sir." The clerk nodded without a question and rang him up. He unlocked the glass shelf behind him and retrieved six heavy boxes of ammunition and placed them in a plastic bag. He tied it and exchanged it with James for the money.

"You know, you two seem like nice guys, and you look like you appreciate your guns, so tell you what? If you need anything the next time you come in and let you take something for free."

"You can do that?" James asked warily, and the clerk chuckled.

"'Course I can, my friend! I can pay for it myself, anyhow."

"…That's really kind of you," Frank said. The clerk shrugged.

"I'm a nice guy."

When they were leaving the store Frank lit a cigarette and popped his neck. "Today's been a busy day, Jim, and we _still_ haven't been able to get the job done. Oh yeah, I got you an ice cream bar." He took out the Robbie bar and gave it to James, but the younger man groaned when he felt it, and then he threw it behind him. "What?" Frank asked.

"It was all melted, Frank, and you know I don't like ice cream. Anyway, speaking of food, I _am_ hungry." He rubbed his stomach to try and settle its sudden rumble.

Frank laughed and slapped his friend in the space between his shoulder-blades. "It just so happens that I'm hungry too, Jim! Come on, I think there's a restaurant nearby…" There was: Gonzalez's Mexican Restaurant. "Are you in the mood for some _guacamole_, or what?"

James sighed. "Don't pretend you're Mexican, Frank; just say 'Avocado', like the rest of us Anglos. But I'd like to have some enchiladas."

"Now you're talking, Jim!" Frank said and they went inside.

…

"Frank, I wouldn't put that much salsa-,"

"Don't be such a spoil-sport, Jim. Here, have some."

"I already told you I don't want any, and if you put any more you're going to regret it."

"Nonsense." Frank stuffed another tortilla in his mouth and then reached for a napkin. James shook his head and poked through his refried beans with his fork. Not many people were eating here today, but he didn't care; his soup would be arriving soon and no one could tell him 'No'. _No one_.

As the two of them were content eating a hooded white-robed woman entered the restaurant. She walked right by the clerks and waitresses with a practiced gait. Not that the personnel of the restaurant were concerned; they knew not to get involved, and they knew that it would soon be a bloodbath in there. The woman—whose name was Samantha Eisenhart—stopped in front of Frank and James' table.

"Mr. Frank Sunderland?" she asked, and Frank and James—who had noticed her coming in, anyway—placed their silverware and napkins down immediately. Frank sipped his cola.

"Can I help you, ma'am?"

"Yes. I have been sent here to kill you under order of The Organization." She pulled down her hood and smiled. "I hope you do not take it personally, though I am curious. You must quite be skilled to have survived thus far…"

"Well, the story isn't going to end so early, don't you think?"

"I do."

She drew her katana with amazing speed and the table was kicked into the air and subjected to the blade. Frank's revolver was out in a flash and he fired, blowing a hole in the wood. Their assailant used her sword to deflect the bullet away. James fell on his bottom.

"Hop to it, Jim!" Frank ordered as he grabbed the salsa bottle and threw it at Samantha. She ducked and the bottle crashed into one of the customers who were running like hell out of the restaurant. They stumbled to the floor, covered in the thick, red liquid, and Frank and James zoomed out of there. Samantha nipped the tip of her thumb with her teeth in annoyance and reached into her robe. When her hand showed itself, four shuriken were held between her fingers, and she launched them at the two men as they ran out in the throng of people towards their car.

"_Ninja stars_!" James cried out, and they lowered their heads quickly as two of the throwing weapons imbedded themselves in the back of a man, cutting deep and drawing great strings of blood. The other two went astray and neither Frank nor James could tell if they hit anyone as they dove into the car and revved the engine. The vehicle jerked out of the parking lot and Frank drove it haphazardly out into the street. Samantha nipped her thumb again and dashed out of the restaurant, leaping onto the hood of a nearby car.

She crouched down and waited for the car to move up beside Frank's, which was hoodless. "She doesn't give up, does she?" Frank said as he swerved the vehicle into another lane, which put it in the way of traffic.

"Frank!" James screamed.

"I've got it!" Frank retorted as Samantha leapt from automobile to automobile, chasing them down the road. All James' saw was a white blur, and then she was standing in the backseat. The katana spun and was jammed into the steering wheel's edge. Frank and James leaned to the sides to avoid it and she released it for another try. "My steering wheel!" Frank exclaimed in fury. He shot twice at her, but the sword hit the bullets away with ease. "That's enough! Take the wheel, Jim!"

"Y-Yeah!" James responded while getting behind the wheel as Frank flipped around to face the assassin on the tips of the seats.

Frank aimed his revolver at her. "I was going to let you off easy, ma'am, but no one damages my car and gets away with it! I'll give you once chance to get the hell out of here!" he shouted over the chorus of blazing honks and curses at them as they sped down the wrong lane.

"I'm afraid I'll have to decline…" she said. The katana struck out at him, and Frank managed to twist around it without falling. He fired off the remaining four rounds, but none of them made contact. "Your guns are useless against me!" she told him before slashing fiercely. Frank stopped the blade with his revolver, but at the expense of it nearly being sliced in half. They locked their weapons—sword and gun—and Frank slammed his forehead into hers, startling as well as knocking her off-balance.

"Jim, _bullet_!" he commanded, and James fumbled with a box before spilling out all its contents. He threw one in a frenzy and then latched his hands on the leather of the steering wheel, just barely swerving around an oncoming car. Frank caught the bullet in his palm and loaded it with lightning speed; he popped it into Samantha as she looked up. She was blown off the vehicle and onto the asphalt. Her body tumbled down for some distance until it stopped and she shakily got to her feet. "Keep driving, Jim," Frank told him. "Keep driving."

---

"I think it's pretty obvious that this "Organization" isn't playing around. That's the third time they sent someone after us, and even when you shot her point-blank she was still able to stand unscathed! What are we going to do?" James was sitting on the edge of his bed, his hands grasping the mattress through the sheets. Frank was leaning against the wall with a cigarette in his fingers. It was late that night.

He took a final drag and then shoved it into the ashtray on the stand beside his bed. He looked at James tiredly. "Do you still want to fix that old hag's pipes?"

James folded his arms and sighed. "I guess not. We've wasted two days here and we've nearly died thrice… Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you that while I was at Gillespie's I saw something."

Frank's brow went up. "What? What did you see?"

"There was a secret room built behind the shelves in the lobby. And down there is an altar."

"Altar? I knew something was up with that hag…" Frank scratched his stubble with interest. "Do you remember how Miriam acted today? She knew those men that attacked us. I think we should go visit that church tomorrow, Jim, and early. That lady will be back, and before she does we need to take care of some business. We won't be able to beat her with what we have now." He got into his bed and James did the same, and while Frank lay awake for an hour's length—he had many things on his mind—James drifted off into sleep easily enough…

…or did he? The motel room was gone. All around him was darkness and the chiming of a bell. He wandered within this darkness until he came upon the face of Robbie the Rabbit. Then it swallowed him.

---

James bolted upright in the bed, covered in cold sweat. The medallion—a talisman, he would later discover—gave off a peculiar chill and he took it in his palm in order to get it off his chest. He let his head fall back on the pillow and he closed his eyes.

---

Earlier that evening, an elderly man was working fervently in his chambers, the pen in his hand moving at a hurried pace. He was dressed in a brown robe and his gray beard jutted out over his chin. There was a knock at his door, and then it opened.

"Father Nicholas?" The man—some called him a saint—looked up from his work and underneath his beard his lips curled in a smile. He rose to greet his visitor.

"Ah, Miriam, my child, how can I assist you?" He motioned at the chair opposite his at the desk and she nodded and sat. "You look troubled, but being that I am an agent of God it is my duty to help those who are in need of it." He returned to his side of the desk and intertwined his hands. The lone candle's flame squirmed.

Miriam—dressed in a plain black gown all Sisters-in-training wore—averted her gaze from his and fidgeted; she tightened her grasp on the book that was in her lap. "I… fear I have sinned somehow, Father," he said solemnly, bowing her head. Nicholas made a _tsk_ing noise and shook his head.

"Raise your head, Miriam. Whatever sin you believe you have committed I'm sure God will pardon."

"I believe that as well, but… I have been wondering, Father: is _killing_… justifiable… if it were in the name of God?" She met his eyes now and he saw that she was afraid. But of what?

Nicholas rubbed his beard and set his quill aside. He narrowed his brow and sighed. "To take one's life is to bear responsibility for it, but you are also stealing that person of their time on Earth. Granted, their souls would continue to reside in Heaven, but to murder in the name of God? If God desired death, you must understand, it would be in order to one day bring absolution and peace. Death is a natural part of this planet, and if one must kill for the good of all, then so be it."

He studied her face to see if this was the response she wanted, but Miriam only grew shakier still. "Alright, however… to kill someone who is innocent, someone who has not sinned against God and does not wish to—that would be wrong, wouldn't it?"

"If the death is needless, of course. If I may ask, Miriam, what spurned these questions? You are not doubting-,"

"No, I would never!" Her tone was sharper than intended, but Nicholas wasn't fazed. She sighed. "…Everything we do is for the sake of God, isn't it? Nothing is without the purpose to one day see Her be among us so that she may grant us salvation?"

"…No, nothing." Nicholas' expression was steely, but he leaned forward. "Miriam, my child, you did not answer my question, though. What was that had you ask these questions?"

"Father, to answer that I must confide in you."

"…I see. Well then, you have my promise no one outside this room should hear."

"Thank you." She got closer. "I met these two men today, Father, and they treated me very well. They were… _unbelievers_." She wrinkled her nose at the word.

"_Ah_."

"And… they—_we_—were attacked by men sent by The Order. Colbert was leading them. I don't, I don't see how these men could have done anything The Order found offensive. Surely death would be too heavy of a punishment, even if they did do something." She awaited a response with her breath held back.

Nicholas pursed his lips together and stroked his beard. A small part of him had expected this. "Miriam…" he began, "you have to understand that some things go farther than innocence and guilt. There—and this you must _not_ speak of outside—was a prophecy-,"

"_Mother Jennifer had a vision_?" Miriam was on the edge of her seat, her mouth agape in shock. Nicholas nodded quickly and pressed a finger to his lips.

"Yes, yes, but please keep your voice down. The vision came to her early several days ago. She foretold the coming of a person who would change our Organization, someone who was _chosen_ by God-,"

A rapping on the wood of the door. Nicholas looked gravely at Miriam before standing and opening it. A sister was outside, and her face was even graver than the Father's had been just seconds before. "Father Nicholas, I am deeply sorry for bothering you this late, but you are needed urgently in the monastery. A fellow brother has injured himself beyond our capabilities of healing."

"Lead me to him, please." He shot Miriam a last-second glare that said, _Not a word_. She would abide.

---

The next morning, Frank parked at the church. He didn't know if mass had started yet, but he didn't really care; this was a reconnaissance mission if anything else. James had wanted to come along, but Frank had sent him on the errand he had brought up the night before. He felt it had to be done as quickly as possible, and James completed things faster than Frank ever could when it came to dealings.

He lit a cigarette as he left his car and approached the church. He saw the rectory nearby and a few other buildings behind it; the complex was large. Perhaps a bit too large. Frank dragged and saw some passerby glance at him and then look away when he took notice. He shrugged and moved on. He expected someone to hail him for smoking when he entered the yard of the church, but no one that saw him said a word. 'Weird,' he thought as he went inside.

Once inside he saw that mass had not begun; hardly anyone was sitting at the pews. At the other end of the room he saw a great, wooden cross hanging before three stained-glass windows; each one depicted a different saint, he supposed. He disregarded the bowl of holy water that greeted him immediately and advanced forward. Some of the occupants sitting mumbled to themselves, and when Frank glanced at them they immediately silence. He took another drag as a man wearing a priest's clothing came forward with a big, aged book in his hands.

"We do not allow smoking inside God's house, sir," the young man said, but his tone was sheepish and hardly forceful. Frank turned to him and eyed him from head-to-toe, as he usually did. This priest was dressed in a white robe that hung over a black suit, and his long, chestnut-colored hair was tousled; barely fit for a priest. His eyes were a haunting blue, but his face was sheepish, as was his tone just before. He had this disturbing, sleepy smile on, too.

Frank dragged a final time, and he made it count. "Sorry," he said as he blew out the following smoke and flicked the cigarette into the small, round trash bin that was behind him. "I just wanted to check this place out, that's all. I didn't plan on staying very long."

"A shame," the man said in that unnervingly calm voice. "Mass will begin shortly. Are you sure you would not like to stay? God is always willing to lend an ear."

"I'll have to pass," Frank responded curtly, and he turned away. "Thanks for the offer, though."

"Of course. Should you change your mind, our doors are always open."

"Yeah." He left, and the priest watched him go with those horrible blue eyes.

Outside, as Frank approached his car, he saw Samantha waiting for him on the road. He stopped and faced her. "I thought you would be coming back soon enough, but I didn't think _this_ early. Oh well."

"I'm sorry to have not been late," she replied.

"Eh, I guess I can deal with it. That chain mail sure absorbed the blow, though; that's quality for you."

"Yes." She reasserted her grip on the sheath of her katana and pushed it upward with her left thumb. "Let's finish this now, Mr. Sunderland; I bear no armor now. This will be a duel of honor."

Frank winced and drew his revolver. "Honor's only good for getting you killed."

"Perhaps you're right, but for now I'll abide by it." She looked up slightly and smiled. "I didn't think there would be an audience, Michael." Frank furrowed his brow in confusion and looked back. Standing with his hands clasped in front of him on the steps of the church was the priest from before. He was still smiling.

'I didn't even hear him come out… he's _good_…' Frank thought.

"I was interested, Samantha, that's all," the priest named Michael told them as he watched. "Besides, there is still some time before mass starts; by then I'm sure one of you will be walking away."

"_Interested_…" She trailed off and laughed, and Frank scratched his head and lowered his gun.

"We don't really have to do this, you know," he said. "You don't have to kill me."

She shook her head. "You're right, Mr. Sunderland, I don't, but I want to. By testing my strength against yours I can know where I stand in this world." She reasserted her stance and he did the same. It seemed like an eternity had passed when a taxi pulled up. Out of it came James, and he removed a long, bundled up thing from the backseat.

"Frank!" he called. "I got that thing you wanted! And _look_! Just in time!"

"Good job, Jim!" was the response, but Samantha was already moving, her katana sliding out of its sheath. Frank fell back and shot, and as he did so James threw the thing into the air and he let his revolver fall so that it clashed against the steel of the sword. He slid under Samantha—she had mildly elevated herself in order to attack—and sprung up as fast as he could on the other side. He caught the thing, which had unraveled itself as it flew through the air: it was the rifle from the gun shop Frank had pointed out.

This all happened so fast that the barrel of the weapon was aimed at Samantha's back before she even knew what had happened, and that was the strategy. Frank pulled the trigger just as the bells of the church started to chime. A flock of doves exploded into the air as she fell onto the asphalt, blood already staining her white robe. Michael applauded them in a crescendo.

Frank and James looked up at him as the bells continued to ring. "Impressive, Mr. Sunderland. I can see now why they are so concerned. We will meet again one day, I'm sure." He bowed to them slightly and then turned to return inside the church.

"Wait a minute," Frank said. "What are you going to do with her? Isn't she your ally? Are you just going to _leave_ her here?"

"Mass is about to begin, Mr. Sunderland; those that are inside will question my absence. I'd ask of you to take her body and bury it in the field." He nodded towards the grassy plain to the side of the church. "Do it behind the ruined cathedral." He proceeded into the church and Frank wiped the sweat off his brow as he gave the rifle to James.

"…Help me with her, would you Jim?"

James' eyes widened. "Frank, are you serious? This is enemy territory… we should leave as soon as possible."

"Maybe so, Jim," Frank said, "but we have to respect the dead. This woman was a warrior who died trying to kill _us_—the least we can do is give her a proper burial." He scooped her up and James juggled with the sword. "Come on."

---

Her eyes fluttered open but she immediately closed them; the sun's brightness was just too much as this time of day, even though the sky was usually clouded in Silent Hill. Michael stood over her makeshift grave with his hands in front of him like before. He smiled down at her. "I was afraid I had left you dormant too long; had I dawdled the pill most likely wouldn't have had an effect." He held out a hand and she took it. As she brushed her dress off he said, "You were very beautiful dead."

"How am I to interpret that, Michael?" she asked him, and he shrugged.

"Of course, your beauty in death pales in comparison to your beauty in life. It is the color, I think, and your eyes. _Life_ is beautiful. Perhaps that is what I'm getting at." He looked beyond her at the fields. "You are free to wander now, Samantha. I informed the council that Sunderland had killed you in your final confrontation."

"Ah, so my time in Silent Hill is over." She frowned. "It will be difficult to part with it; such a pretty place…"

"But many other places are much prettier. Unfortunately, I will not be able to join you for the time being. Should Mr. Sunderland kill me… perhaps then I will meet you at the crossroads. Goodbye, Samantha." He walked back in the direction of the church, and she could only watch him go.

**END CHAPTER THREE**


	4. Episode Four

**SILENT HILL: Prelude to a Crappy Plotline; Episode Four**

"Gillespie, open up!" Frank shouted outside on the antique shop's front porch. It was mid-afternoon, and the sky was a mellow yellow. Another day could have been wasted, but Frank had had enough. They were going to get this job done—whether it resulted in their deaths or not—today and then get on the road and drive back to Ashfield and never come back. He was afraid if they waited another day they would _never_ be able to leave.

Dahlia Gillespie appeared and glided over to the door. "Ah, Mr. Sunderland. We finally get to have a proper meeting." She smiled at him but Frank knew it was a fallacy. He lit a cigarette.

"Spare me," he said rudely while taking a drag. "We're here to get this job over with. Show me those pipes." She nodded and wordlessly led them deeper into the shop and into a room with extensive, rusted piping near the ceiling. She shut the door and locked it, placing the key between two of her crazy shawls. Frank was quick to draw his great revolver, but Dahlia only smirked at it.

"I have to applaud you for defeating Samantha, or at least that is what Michael has told us. In any case, you just happened to end up in the path of destiny, Frank Sunderland, _in the path of God_. Your interference cannot be allowed!" Out of nowhere came several robed men; one of them jammed a syringe into Frank's neck, and he went down instantly. In the blink of an eye James had his weapon trained on them.

"Let him go, or I'll shoot all of you down," he stated flatly. The room's atmosphere was stiff, and no one moved a muscle. All except for Dahlia.

She chortled and neared him. "You knew this was a trap, I'm sure, both of you. We wouldn't have let you go, in any case. Your coming has been foretold, James Stone. You are the one who will lead us into God's Paradise!"

James thumbed the revolver and edged back. He kept his eyes on the rest of the men. "What is that supposed to mean?" he demanded. "Who _are_ you people?"

"That seal you have around your neck," Dahlia began, "do you have any idea what it is? Any clue?" She waited for a response, but received none. "Of course you don't. That is the Seal of Metatron, James, one of the seraphim of God. You have been chosen by the gods to do their bidding." Cuing his puzzled expression, she laughed. "Once Rosie informed me of your little accident with the shelves during your last visit, I knew that it was time to stop our preparations."

"_What_?" James raised the barrel to her face, but it didn't faze her. "Start making sense; do you _want_ to die?"

Dahlia smirked smugly. "You cannot pull the trigger, James. It has called you. That arousing, urging bellow from the back of your mind… You cannot resist! Leave it all behind you and come join us in Paradise!"

"_No_!" James roared, and he fired. He only glimpsed briefly Dahlia's surprised face before one of the men jumped in the bullet's path and took the hit. The hood fell back and revealed what looked like a younger man—no older than thirty, at most. The rest of Dahlia's myrmidons already brought out their various guns and crossbows. James noted the window on the wall; it was long and rectangular—he would be able to escape that way. He dropped down and slid to the window, emptying the remaining five bullets that were present in the gun. He felled two of the men, but the other three bullets went awry. One of them popped a hole in the piping above them, destroying its stability and sending it down. Several slugs showed themselves and fell atop the men, immediately ravaging them with bites and their acid.

James rolled through the window and fell awkwardly to the grass below, and barreled off into the town. In the shop, Dahlia surveyed her fallen servants with a grimace before stomping on one of the slugs and killing it in quiet rage. "Run while you can, James," she said with a smirk, "It won't be long until we find you… and with your friend in our grasp…" She glanced back at Frank's prone form and laughed.

--

"Sister Samantha…" Miriam watched her roommate twist anxiously on her bunk. She ran her hands through her long, blonde hair restlessly. "Is it true, do you think? That she's gone?"

"That's what they're saying," Miriam answered, glancing at the oil lamp on the desk nearby. Outside, the sun was a grim, red line on the horizon. Dark storm clouds were brewing and threatening rain. Personally, Miriam couldn't comfort herself any way she viewed it. Frank and James seemed like good people, but if it was God's will that they be done away with—

But was that enough to justify it? Miriam was unsure, but she saw no reason for the two men to have to die. She wondered…

"There's a rumor going around," said her roommate, "that the Fathers and Mothers know more about it than they're letting on."

Miriam shrugged. "I don't know," she said, "It's too much to think about."

"What do you mean?" asked the blonde, but Miriam only turned on her bunk and lay silent. She lay like that for a long while, hearing the rain patter against the windows and the entire quarters grow quiet when a strange inkling came to her. Or not so much an inkling, but an urge, an urge to leave and go find the two men and maybe help them escape, because certainly God wanted to bring salvation to everyone and not just those who believed in Her…

She bolted up and slipped off her bunk, watching her roommate, Jessica, sleep peacefully across the dorm. Slowly, she treaded across the wooden floor to the window, hearing words in her head: _Go find them, Miriam. Go find them, Miriam._

The image that she associated with these words, oddly enough, was Robbie the Rabbit, or, more specifically, his face. She reached out and unlatched the window, hearing Jessica murmur in her sleep. Miriam took the sheets from her bed, wrapped them around her and cast a glance around the dorm. She had enough time to question what exactly she was doing, but it was not enough to truly deter her. She pushed the window open, letting in a mess of cold rain, and hopped out, closing it behind her.

--

James crept silently through the bushes, wet and shaking. His revolver was tucked away in the back of his jeans, reloaded and ready should he be attacked in the darkness. He had returned to their motel room and found that someone had broken in and rummaged through their belongings. They had done a well enough job of washing away their footsteps, but it had been the scent, dusty, that had alerted James. He quickly left, and now, hidden in the night outside the church, he wondered what he was doing.

Suddenly, he caught sight of a figure darting through the rain. He quickly drew his weapon and aimed; the click of the revolver stopped the mysterious stranger. He stepped out into the hiding, approaching warily. "Who are you?" he asked, scrounging his face up through the wet.

The figure turned towards him, and James was surprised to see the face of Miriam, surprised and scared. "James?" she asked, and he nodded slowly.

"It's you, Miriam," he said, lowering the gun. "What are you doing out here?"

"It must be God's will!" she exclaimed. "I was heading to Jack's Inn. I meant to find you and Frank. Where is he? Why are you here?"

"They got him," James replied regretfully. "It was a trap. We went to go confront that woman, Dahlia Gillespie, but she'd been expecting us. I just managed to get away."

"Mother Dahlia?" Miriam murmured in disbelief. "Then they really are after you."

"But why?" James demanded angrily. "She said I was the one they wanted, the one to bring about paradise, or something like that! What did she mean? Who are you people? What do you want with us?"

Miriam was silent, connecting his statement to what Father Nicholas had told her previous. Could it be that James Stone was the one foretold of in Mother Jennifer's vision? She banished the thought—her goal was to help them escape, of that she was determined, not to deliver them into the hands of The Order. She shook her head fervently.

"I don't know," she lied, "why they would want you. But it doesn't matter! We must find Frank!"

"But where would he be?" James asked. "Where would they be keeping him?"

--

Slowly, light filtered in to Frank's vision. The blur before him refined into that of a well-lit room, whitewashed room. He blinked, focusing, noting a dull pain in his head. A man stood before him, hands clasped in front. He wore a white coat and a devilish leer.

"You're awake," he said. His black hair was gelled back and his eyes were beady. His voice carried monotonous authority, and he reminded Frank of a schoolteacher he once had, an asshole by the name of Mr. Coughlin.

"Who are you?" Frank said, his voice hoarse. The doctor chuckled.

"Michael Kaufmann," the man said, holding his hand out. Out of nature Frank attempted to raise his hand a shake it, but he found he was restrained to the bed and dressed in a patient gown. Kaufmann's grin grew wider.

"You had a nasty accident, Mr. Sunderland. I'll be presiding over you. Don't worry—you'll be out soon enough."

"Bull," Frank said, smirking himself. "You're one of them. You're keeping me here."

"I've no idea what you mean, Mr. Sunderland," Kaufmann said, innocent as a butterfly. "You must still be delirious." He stepped into the doorway. "If you need anything, just buzz." Still grinning, he left the room, leaving Frank to stare after him.

He sighed and leaned his head back, surveying the room. He was definitely in a hospital; the beeping of machinery was distant but frequent, and the air smelt clean and sterile. He began to wonder about James when something rustled in the bed to his left.

"That Kaufmann's a real prick."

Frank turned to see a man lying in the other bed, propped up on elbow. He was an older man, balding, wearing a pair of gaudy spectacles. "Yeah, a definite prick. The name's Dennis." His voice was light and high. "So you're Sunderland? I've heard your name a few times around here. They were making room for you."

"Making room for me?" Frank mumbled. "Where are we? What is this place?"

"Alchemilla Hospital," Dennis answered. "And don't even think about getting out of here. They'll drug you soon enough, and then you won't be able to tell apples from oranges."

Frank considered this, the prospect not very desirable. Drugs? Were they drugging everyone? The whole town?

"I can't stay here," Frank said determinedly. "There has to be a way to get out. How long has it been since they brought me? Where did they take my stuff?"

Dennis brought a finger to his chin and furrowed his brow in thought. "Not long, maybe a few hours. You were out cold. I don't know where they would have taken your clothes. Probably one of the storerooms."

Frank groaned. "Listen, Dennis," he said. "You're going to help me get the hell out of this place."

The idea seemed to disconcert Dennis, who frowned. "Oh, I don't know about that. Who knows what they may do to me. You probably won't even make it off this floor."

"I'll take you with me," said Frank. "Don't you want to leave?"

Dennis shook his head. "No, actually. It's very nice here. You get your meals free, you can sleep whenever you want… although I suppose it _does_ get a little boring being here all day…"

Before their conversation could continue, a clicking in the hall drew their attention. Dennis sat up with renewed vigor upon seeing a nurse enter the room, nicely curved and fair. She held up a tray of food and smiled seductively. "Here's your dinner, Dennis."

"Thank you, Susie," he said, smiling, and took it. "Oh, macaroni and cheese! My _favorite_!"

Frank eyed the buxom nurse suspiciously, wondering of her alignment, and asked, "What about my dinner? Aren't all the patients fed?"

She turned to him, flashing a smile. "Pardon me, Mr. Sunderland, but according to Dr. Kaufmann you should not be eating."

"Why not?" Frank argued. "I feel fine."

"Doctor's orders," she replied coyly and left. Frank stared daggers at her rear end.

"She thinks she can sway those nice, round hips in my face and deny me food, all with a smile on her face?" He groaned again, trembling restlessly. "I need a smoke. Bastards took my cigarettes, too."

Dennis chewed his macaroni slowly. "Susie's such a nice girl. She takes care of the patients in this wing."

"I bet," Frank said lowly, and sighed.

--

"I don't know where he is!" Diego cried behind the reception desk. "Please, sir, put the gun away!"

James waved the revolver threateningly. Miriam was waiting outside under the porch of the motel, and she watched the ensuing spectacle through the window. "It's no use lying," James said. "Whoever broke into our room didn't do so forcefully—they used a key. And who else would have a key to our room besides you?"

"I don't know, sir! There are _counterfeits_—"

James thumbed the revolver and blasted off Diego's glasses, barely missing his head by an inch. The ruined glasses clattered against the floor. "Alright, alright!" he exclaimed, shielding himself with his arms. "I'll tell you! Please, just don't kill me!" James stepped back.

"Then talk."

"Okay," Diego said, calming. "They took him to the hospital, Alchemilla. I don't know what they're going to do with him."

"Alchemilla?" James contemplated this, and at last withdrew his weapon. "Thanks," he said, and quickly departed with Miriam. Diego breathed a sigh of relief and turned to the phone on the counter. He dialed the same four-digit number and held the receiver up to his ear.

"Yes, sir," he said. "He's gone to the hospital. Yes, this time he is certainly armed. He shot my glasses off, sir. Um, no. No, sir. I think there was someone with him, actually. Uh, yes, sir, I will."

He set the phone down and ground his teeth. "You better watch out, Stone. You'll pay for those glasses one way or another."

--

Frank lay still, numb and bored, listening to Dennis humming some nameless tune. The rain had worsened outside—he could hear it all around them, ferocious and unrelenting. Thunder roared violently.

"Splendid weather, no?" Dennis queried. "I just absolutely love the rain. _Rain_, oh, _rain_"

Frank let out another aggravated groan. "How about getting me out from this bed, Dennis? We can go out and see the rain."

"Yeah, I don't know about that…" Dennis said, gazing out of the window. By the flash of a lightning bolt, he caught sight of two silhouettes outside the grounds, but paid them little heed. "Rain, rain"

Frank gave into his despair and was about to submit to sleep when Dennis spoke. "If I help you, can we go get some ice cream?"

"Whatever you want, buddy," Frank said. "We'll go get gallons of the shit. Just get me out of here."

Dennis hopped off his bed and waddled over to Frank's side, looking over the leather straps that bound him to the bed. "These are really easy. I'm used to these types of things, don't worry. I'll get you free really quick."

Frank wondered what he meant by such an ambiguous statement, but it seemed he was telling the truth—the straps came loose and Frank stood from the bed, stretching. He turned to Dennis. "Let's go get your ice cream."

They flitted into the hall, heads darting this way and that. All was clear, at least for now. "Which way is the storeroom?" Frank asked quietly, hugging the wall. Dennis pointed to the left, and they were gone, keeping low and hiding behind gurneys and the like. As they approached the room, an attendant walked into view, inspecting a clipboard. Frank crept up behind him stealthily and downed him with a single chop to the neck.

"How did you do that?" Dennis asked in awe. Frank shrugged.

"You get the hang of it after the sixth movie, or so."

They continued on to the storeroom, but there was nothing there except for supplies and a long, rusted pipe which Frank took. "Is there another storeroom?" he inquired, and Dennis nodded.

"The next floor should have one."

"Okay, let's go."

They hurried up a nearby flight of stairs, Frank disposing of doctors and hospital personnel alike with swift chops and quick belts to the head with the pipe. They ascended a final flight of stairs and reached the next floor, where Kaufmann greeted them.

"I suppose I underestimated you, Mr. Sunderland," he said, his trademark grin faltering, "or maybe I put too much faith in your roommate." He faced Frank and Dennis from the opposite end of the hall. "What a sight you are, parading around in your gown like that. You should be glad we at least gave you a pair of socks."

"Yeah, but no slippers," Frank said. "Lousy service. You even took my cigs."

Kaufmann grimaced. "I'd heard you were a joker. We have eyes and ears everywhere—we've been monitoring you since you arrived in town."

"I don't get it," Frank told him. "Why are you guys coming after us? What did Jim and I ever do to you?"

"It's not about what you've done, but what you _will_ do—more specifically Stone than yourself," the doctor responded. "He is the one we need."

"Jim?" Frank brandished the pipe and advanced forward. "You better keep your dirty hands off him, if you know what's good for you."

Kaufmann laughed and shrugged. "Unfortunately, Mr. Sunderland—or would you prefer Frank?—that's going to turn out an empty promise." He snapped his fingers and a troop of nurses surrounded them. The nurse Susan walked out from behind Kaufmann, throwing aside her nurse's cap and removing a pair of scalpels from the bun of her hair, releasing a torrent of flowing chestnut down her neck and shoulders.

She came between them and brought one of the scalpels to her lips, licking its blade sensually and drawing blood across her tongue. "I've been waiting to meet you, Frank Sunderland," she said. "All those rumors were getting me _excited_." She extended a blade out to them, sneering.

Dennis huddled behind Frank. "Sweet Susan," he muttered. "She's like a completely different person."

Frank shrugged. "You're not the only one who was duped, my man."

"So, what will you do?" Kaufmann asked as the nurses closed in. "Give up now and we may spare your life."

Frank laughed it off. "That wouldn't be very fun," he said, and quickly whipped around to the nurses. "Let's dance." Two of them swooped in with their knives and melee weapons out; Frank knocked those away and sent the nurses reeling with powerful blows to the head and gut.

Dennis yelped and ran off to hide in the corner as Frank turned and contended with the next wave. He parried the attack of one and shattered her skull with a club of the pipe. The next he swept and then delivered a crushing blow to her abdomen. More came at him, and he fought them off, just barely able to avoid the knife that flew over his head. He looked up and saw Susan rushing in, swinging her scalpels widely. Frank ducked and dodged, letting his enemies take the hits. As they fell, more replaced them.

"For a man in a gown, you fight well," she laughed, slashing through her comrades to reach him. Frank kept back, nervous of her carelessness. She struck out at him and he blocked, nicking his arm in the process. He let his guard down and she cut through his gown, almost striking him. He quickly recovered and sent her sprawling back with a hit to stomach.

Frank took out the last two nurses and faced his opponent who stared at him with a murderous gleam in her eyes. "Don't you care about the others?" he demanded, but she only giggled.

"They're just dead weight," she said. "All they do is get in the way. Now we can have some _real_ fun!" She ran forward, flipping, and kicked him square across the chin. Frank fell on his back but managed to deflect an oncoming swing; he then forced her back and prepared to attack, but the click of a gun stopped both of them.

"Enough of this!" Kaufmann yelled, holding Dennis by the arm with a gun pointed at his head. "I refuse to have any more bodies litter my halls! Stop, Frank, and your friend lives."

Frank stood still, glancing between them and Susan, who slowly licked her lips in contemplation. "Put the pipe down," Kaufmann commanded, and Frank began to comply when a gunshot sent the doctor's weapon flying out of his hand.

"Jim!" Frank uttered incredulously, watching James and Miriam enter the hall, the former holding his revolver high. "Am I glad to see you!"

"I figured you'd need some help," James said, keeping his sights on Kaufmann, who snarled.

"How did you get in here? The hospital should have been sealed off!"

"Looks like you really underestimated us, Doc," Frank said. He drew back, when Dennis appeared from the storeroom with a large sac in his arms.

"Uh, Frank, here's your stuff." James and Miriam joined them, and they started down the hall, running. Kaufmann clenched his fists in frustration.

"This isn't over!" he shouted. "Susan, after them!"

She laughed, twirling her scalpels. "You don't have to tell me twice."

--

"You brought Miriam along?" Frank asked disbelievingly as he slipped his clothes and gear on. He spun his loaded revolver in his hand.

"We just bumped into each other," James said. "Besides, she wants to help."

"Yes," she said. "Please, I—"

"It's too dangerous for her here," Frank stated. "Things could get out of hand."

"It's too late," said Miriam. "My fate is sealed if they find us. I have… betrayed my brothers and sisters."

She looked away despondently and Frank turned to James. "We've got to get to the car. Is it still at the antique shop?"

James shrugged while chancing a glance down the corridor—they had not been followed, at least not yet. "It might be, but it'd be risky to go back there. We've got to hide out somewhere and get a plan."

"I know a place," Dennis said suddenly. The others looked to him expectantly. "There's an old theater on the outskirts of town. It's abandoned and no one really prowls around there."

"Sounds good," Frank said and started down the hallway. "First we've got to get out of here." James made to follow him and Dennis, but Miriam caught his arm.

"That medallion," she said, "around your neck. I didn't notice it before. Where did you get it?"

"Gillespie gave it to me," he said quietly, cupping it in a hand. He shook his head. "Anyway, come on. Let's hurry."

The group dashed through the halls of the hospital, scattering all bystanders. As they came down one corridor, however, oncoming cultists blocked them. Dennis led them quickly up the stairs and they soon found themselves atop the roof of the hospital.

"What now?" James wondered aloud in dismay as a scalpel sailed at him through the rainy darkness. Frank pulled him down and they turned, guns drawn, to Susan and her troop of lackeys.

"You can't run away anymore," she said laughingly. "You'd best just give yourselves up now."

Frank chuckled, eyeing a nearby fire escape. "Jim and I aren't the type to give up without a fight." He produced a cigarette, frowned at in the rain, and then chucked it towards them. "Follow me!" he roared while opening fire, and while Susan and the others were occupied, Frank and his friends were utilizing the fire escape. James went last, keeping their assailants at bay with continued gunfire. He quickly descended and then the group was gone into the darkness of the town.

Susan watched them go amusedly. "You can run, but you can't hide."

--

"He escaped? You are quite the blubbering fool, Michael," Leonard said within the shadowy sanctum of The Order. Kaufmann sat across from him, fuming.

"You can't blame it all on me! Dahlia failed to capture Stone, as well. Without his interference Sunderland was mine!"

"Enough!" Dahlia snapped at them both from the head of the table. "It will do no good to point fingers. The fact remains that they have escaped into Silent Hill. Fortunately we have cut off the streets; they cannot leave the town limits. It is only a matter of time before we locate them."

Kaufmann cleared his throat, regaining his composure. "Susan is tracking them as we speak, but I am hesitant to have her pursue them on her own. They defeated Samantha—who's to say their luck won't repeat a second time?"

There was a cackle at the other end of the table. "I'll go," the man in the white coat said giddily, his tinted glasses glowing in the candlelight. "I'm sure it's safe to unleash me now that all our cards are down. Besides, I've been itching to meet this Sunderland fellow for quite some time."

"Fine, then, Alastair," Dahlia said. "You may go with Susan." The woman smiled. "Surely the two of you will overpower Sunderland."

"What about Stone?" Wolf asked. "We cannot afford him to be caught in the crossfire."

"He won't," Dahlia said. "I have a plan for him. For now, however, let us focus our efforts on the task at hand. Only a little longer now and Paradise will be upon us."

**END EPISODE FOUR**


	5. Episode Five

**SILENT HILL: Prelude to a Crappy Plotline; Episode Five**

"Is this it?" Frank led the group inside Artauld Theater, the place musty and the air stagnant. Their footfalls thumped on the shaggy carpet. Frank put away his gun and ran a hand through his slimy hair; he grimaced. "You sure no one followed us, Jim?"

"We're clear," James said as he brought up the rear into the theater. They grouped together in the lobby, Frank lighting a cigarette. Dennis glanced around nervously, fearing the shadows.

"So, what now?" Frank asked, dragging.

James tapped his chin pensively, furrowing his brow. "We can stay here a little while," he said, "but they'll find us eventually. Isn't there a forest nearby? If we can stay hidden, we might be able to reach the interstate." He waited for a rebuke, but Frank only nodded.

"Sounds good." He turned to the rest of the theater, breathing out smoke. "Now, I need a drink. You think there's any liquor in this place?"

"Probably not. Frank, where are you going? You're not actually going to go look?" Sighing, James submitted to defeat. "Fine, I'll go scope out the area."

He went off, leaving Miriam and Dennis to join the rugged Sunderland as he stalked through the corridors, snooping in rooms and closets. Miriam was mostly silent, but Dennis ventured a question. "If you don't mind me asking, just who _are_ you two? You look like such normal people, and then, well, look at what happened back at the hospital!"

Frank laughed, patting the butt of his revolver. "We're nothing special," he said. "Jim and I've been through similar scraps before, is all. We're no strangers to this business." This answer did not reassure Dennis, who regarded the man with a sense of wonder.

They soon found themselves rummaging around in a dressing room, with Frank doing most of the rummaging. "Speak of the devil!" he exclaimed triumphantly, raising a bottle high above his head. "I knew there was something. You can't act if you aren't drunk, after all." He looked around some more and held up some dusted glasses. He waved the bottle towards the others, with Miriam politely declining and Dennis hit in the face.

"Sorry about that," Frank said, "I got a little excited." He offered a second time and shrugged. "Suit yourself. Let's go find Jim."

They returned to the lobby, where the lights flared on. Frank was initially suspect, but James wandered out, waving him down. "I found the breaker," he said from across the room. "Just had to switch it on."

"Good job, Jim!" commended Frank.

Meanwhile Dennis was squirming. "I've got to go the little boy's room," he said, to which Frank rubbed his chin in thought.

"Hey, Jim," he called, "take him to a restroom, or something. Maybe a window. I don't want anyone going around alone, though."

"I agree," James said, coming up. "Come on, let's go." He led Dennis into the theater, and Frank turned to find Miriam missing and the doors into the auditorium open. He went in and saw her staring at the stage in wonder.

"I always fancied plays," he said absently. "It's so majestic, so wonderful. You could lose yourself in another world for just a little bit… in my mind, that was Paradise."

Frank stood beside her and was reminded of a play he had been to many years ago for school. Little Nicole Adams had been Alice, following John Robinson as the White Rabbit. A few years after that the school had burned down, and the last he had seen of Nicole and John had been high school, when they left Pleasant River. Many of his friends had, in fact. _He_ had.

"Paradise," he thought aloud. "What is that? You guys aren't just any old crackpots." He chuckled lightly, scratching his head. "No offense."

"No," she said quietly, gazing downcast. "My Sisters and I have always been told that one day God will return, and She would bring eternal salvation with her. Everyone would be happy. I never had any reason to question it. But you… you say you don't believe, and yet you seem happy. No, I think you _are_ happy. You are happy without Her."

"I told you before, I don't put my faith in things I can't rely on," he said. "Instead I believe in the things I _can_ rely on, like Jim and the 'Heights back home." He smiled at her. "That's just who I am."

She nodded. "You're not bad people. I don't understand why they would go after you. They call you heretics, as if you would interfere with Paradise."

"Well, I don't know about that," Frank said. "I came to this town to do a job, not to fight some god, or whatever. If they come after me, I go after them. It's nothing personal. Not yet."

Miriam pondered this, sitting down on the armrest of a seat. When she looked to him her eyes were clear and determined. "I can't go back now. I made my decision to help you, and that's what I'm going to do."

"Don't worry, Miriam," Frank said, drawing his weapon. "I'll get you out of this—I'll get _all_ of us out of this. I promise." He grinned and gestured to the door. "Now let's go find Jim."

Meanwhile, Dennis was relieving himself through an open window. The storm had eased, but rain still fell steadily. James peered out at it worriedly, inspecting the chamber of his revolver.

"So, what do you guys do?" Dennis asked, looking over his shoulder at the young man. "You're no regular guys, that's for sure."

James holstered his gun and shrugged. "_Sunderland and Stone's_ performs a variety of tasks, including plumbing or repairing your refrigerator, or… well, we're jacks-of-all-trades."

"You can say that again," the other man said while adjusting his gown. He moved back from the window and wiped his glasses off. "Do you two have any family? I have a younger sister back in Brahams, and from what I heard she had a son recently. I sent him a wooden bird for a toy."

"I'm about to have a kid myself," James said. "My wife's expecting. I agreed to come here to Silent Hill for a quick job, but I wasn't ready for this. I have to get back to her."

Dennis nodded understandingly. "Have you thought of a name for it yet?"

"No, actually," said James as he returned to the window. "We were thinking of—" He stopped, witnessing quick shapes hasten through the rain. He whipped out his revolver again and steadied it.

"What is it?" Dennis queried fearfully, looking about himself.

"We need to find Frank," James replied. "I think they found us."

--

"You know what to do," Leonard told both Susan and Alastair within the limits of the forest, the theater not too far off. Around them were a mass of armed Order members, some holding torches out to illuminate the darkness. The rain had stopped now, but the air was still frigid and the ground muddy.

"They won't get away this time," Susan said with a lick of the lips. "I want another taste of that man." Her nurse disguise had been discarded—now she was attired in a full black costume, with cleavage and bare legs and skin galore. Her hair was in an up do, her bangs attractively cascading down her face.

"We'll split him into pieces," the man to her right tittered. He produced dual pistols from his white suit and spun them around theatrically. "You can get his lower half and I his top!" He laughed maniacally, receiving an odd glare from Leonard, who shrugged. Sometimes he wondered how much control he really had over these people, their so-called "elite".

"Yes, well, don't get too excited," he warned. "You can have your fun with Sunderland, but Stone and the girl must not be harmed. And damages must also be kept to a minimum. Burning the building down will not do."

Alastair laughed, pushing his violet glasses up his nose. "We're not here for the theater, after all."

"Yes. Correct. Now, be off."

And they were.

--

Upon Frank and Miriam's return to the lobby, the lights flickered ominously. "What was that?" she inquired while he drew his gun. They flickered again and then were out.

"Jim!" Frank called, receiving no answer. He cursed under his breath and glanced at the girl. "Stay close, Miriam." Somewhere, windows shattered, and then continued to do so, louder and louder. The lobby doors thudded and Frank aimed at them, waiting for them to burst.

They did. Hooded men rushed in, the first two shot down instantly. More swarmed, and Frank picked off those he could before taking Miriam by the arm and hurrying into the theater. The men chased them into the auditorium, where they took refuge behind the stage. Frank took potshots, and then he turned to Miriam. "Go hide!" he whispered. "The closet that we looked in—keep low and get in there!"

"What about you?" she said, but he shook his head.

"I'll be fine! Wait for me or Jim!"

She reluctantly ran off, leaving Frank to fend for himself. He killed another attacker and then quickly reloaded, snapping the chamber in and out. He aimed again, ready to fire, when the oncoming men were suddenly shot down.

"He's mine!" yelled a crazed voice, dripping with venom. "Stay away!" More bullets flew and more men fell. When all were dead, Frank kept low, watching the top tiers.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are," spoke the white-suited man quietly, holding a gun behind his head flamboyantly. The other he beat against his pant leg rhythmically. His lax black hair framed his narrow face, and he wore a pair of purple glasses; they matched his tie of the same color.

Frank, catching a clear view of him strolling through the higher seats, jumped out and shot—he missed. The man had hopped away, laughing. "Ooh, nice try, but you'll have to do better! I can hear the click of your gun like a pin drop in a quiet room!"

Frank grimaced and took aim once more. "You're just like that other girl, killing your own comrades! Don't any of you people _care_?"

"Oh, I've never been much of the sharing type," he said, "and neither has Susan." He trained his pistols on Frank. "Call me Alastair, Mr. Sunderland—I'll be your host for the evening!" He cackled and opened fire.

--

James brought down another group of cultists, checking his ammunition. "I'm running low on bullets," he remarked. "I've only got another box on me." He and Dennis continued through the corridors to the lobby, when suddenly a knife flew past and imbedded itself in the door. James spun around and faced Susan, who approached slowly, drawing a blade down her neck and chest.

"You know, you might make a nice substitute for Sunderland. You lack some of the brawn and burly masculinity, but you'll do, nonetheless."

James grunted. "Sorry, but I'm taken," he said, and she pouted.

"She certainly has a good eye," she said, laughing, and Dennis walked out from behind James.

"Susan, don't do this, please! There's no reason for this trouble!"

She ceased her approach and smiled sadly. "I'm sorry, Dennis," she said, adopting her former, polite persona. "But I have orders." She grinned wildly. "And I intend to carry them out!"

"You'd better get out of here, Dennis!" James said. The man nodded and vanished through the doors as Susan ran and pounced, stabbing the door with her other knife. James turned and thumbed the revolver but one of her legs flashed out and the gun was flying from his grasp. Her other leg moved and he was propelled to follow it, landing on his back.

"You sure can kick," James said, standing. He saw his weapon out of the corner of his eye, but Susan was already coming for him.

"I can do much more than kick, I assure you!" she cried, stabbing forward. He strafed and caught her wrist.

"So can I," he said, and socked her back. She stumbled and then looked up, smiling.

"I'm more interested than ever!"

--

"I'm disappointed!" Alastair yelled, firing from the higher level at the scurrying Frank. "I expected a cat, not a mouse!"

Frank hid behind a column, formulating a plan. _The guy's a master marksman,_ he thought depressingly. _Even if I get a shot at him, he'll have one, too._ _I have to distract him._

As if to answer his prayer, more cultists found their way inside. Alastair groaned, turning his sights on them. "What an annoyance!" he exclaimed, shooting, but without looking one of the guns was thrown out in Frank's direction, who was running out of the auditorium.

Frank grabbed one of the men and used him as a shield; while the man absorbed the bullets, Frank opened fire of his own. Alastair ducked and watched as Frank escaped into the lobby. He laughed and leapt down to the ground floor, where he reloaded speedily. The surviving men cowered before him as he approached.

"No need to be afraid," he said companionably, clapping one on the shoulder. "I'm not going to hurt you." And then he shot them.

Frank, in the meantime, was hurrying through the halls. "Miriam! Miriam, are you here?" He strained his ears, at first hearing nothing.

"I'm here, Frank!" she shouted, forcing herself out of a closet. He shoved her back in.

"Stay here and don't make a sound!" he ordered. "It's not safe!" From the far end of the corridor he saw Dennis run out, then run back in fright. Alastair had appeared.

"You're pretty slippery, Sunderland," he said, seeing the girl. "Oh, Miriam! So it's true, then! You really have betrayed us!"

"I haven't betrayed God!" she responded. "But you all are wrong!"

"Bold words!" he laughed. "We are God's servants, her worldly avatars! I would think that if you betray us, you betray Her, as well!"

"No!" she shot back. "You would do whatever you please and use Her will as an excuse! I'll do what I believe is right!"

Alastair giggled, holding a pistol out towards them. "And that includes helping this man? Very well, then." He lunged forward suddenly. "You can join him in hell!"

"Miriam, run!" Frank roared, firing from the hip. His aim was true and Alastair was shot back. The girl seized the opportunity and ran. "Find Dennis and Jim!" Frank yelled back at her, turning back to see his deranged opponent rising.

"Good!" he squealed, revealing a sturdy breastplate underneath. "I was starting to think you'd keep running away!" And Frank was.

--

Suddenly Susan was up in the air, bombarding James with a flurry of kicks; she sent him hard into the other end of the narrow corridor. "Your heels dig deep," he said, spitting out some blood. He saw his gun and then looked back to her.

"I'd rather them dig deep than not at all," she said, cocking a brow. "But my blade digs deeper!" She dove and he rolled away. She came back and swiped and he avoided, and their dance continued, all the while nearing closer to his gun. He quickly blocked a slash and grasped both of her arms before slamming his head into hers. She reeled back and he grabbed his revolver. However, upon bringing it up, he saw she was gone.

"What—" Suddenly she dropped down upon him, trapping him by the neck with her thick, sensuous legs. Oh, spare me.

"It's a shame we can't kill you!" she exclaimed. "I'd love to see you bleed!" James struggled down below, trying to hoist her off. She slashed at his hands, nicking them.

"No," he said, hurtling backwards. "I don't know what you people want, but you're not getting it from me!" With a surge of strength he slammed her against the wall and freed himself. He turned quickly and struck out his revolver; they were caught in a stalemate, her kneeling, knives ready, he ready to fire.

"I want answers," he said. "Why did you all bring us here? What do I have to do with this?"

As he said this, a ringing sounded in his ears, and static crossed over his vision. He brought a hand up to his forehead, a pain expanding within. He saw a figure in the darkness, heard a voice calling him. He saw his wife, Margaret, but why—?

"You'll see soon enough," said Susan, stepping back. She vanished and left the room, leaving him on one knee, wondering what had happened.

Behind him, a door opened. "James!" Miriam and Dennis ran up to him. He turned to them apprehensively, wary, and then his reason and composure returned.

"You two are safe, good," he said, looking between them. "Where's Frank? What's happened?"

"He's still fighting," answered Miriam. "The man after him, Alastair, he is extremely dangerous! He won't stop until Frank's dead!"

"That's not good," James said. "Stay close—who knows what else is lurking around here."

--

Bullets chased Frank as he escaped into another hall; Alastair slid into the threshold of the passageway, guns drawn, and saw nothing down its expanse. He slowly crept forward, chuckling. "Where are you?" he asked the air, hearing nothing but the far cry of thunder. "Come out, come out."

He continued, soon reaching the end of the hall. Before he could turn, however, cold steel pressed against the back of his head, accompanied by a click. "I don't think you'll be able to dodge from this far," Frank said, ready for anything. Alastair giggled again.

"You really are fantastic. You're even better than I expected. I can see why they'd be so afraid of you."

"Who are you talking about? Gillespie and the rest of you freaks?" Frank snarled.

"Why, of course," Alastair laughed back. "They talk a big game, but you know things are out-of-hand when they have to resort to people like _me_." He shrugged. "And what happens when even I fail?" He suddenly bounded away and through a nearby window into the night. Frank avoided the shards and stared out after him, but he was nowhere to be seen.

"Damn it!" Frank cursed before following. He hit the mud and ran, looking about frantically. He wondered why he was even giving chase—it was as if something was spurring him on, something beyond his control. Soon he found himself surrounded by trees. He had entered the forest.

"So you followed me!" came Alastair's voice from within the darkness. "You're either incredibly brave or incredibly cocky or _ludicrously_ stupid!"

Frank gave no answer, his weapon ready. He proceeded slowly forward, hoping the others were safe.

--

James, Miriam, and Dennis remained hidden in the shadows outside the theater, watching the daunting figure of Leonard Wolf pace along its entrance, Susan and more robed men around him. "They must be nearby," Susan said. "Shouldn't we find them?"

"No," Leonard answered, clicking his tongue. "We've lost enough men as it is. I am more concerned with Sunderland. Find him. Who knows what Alastair has done in the meantime."

She nodded and then moved out with a troop of cultists. Leonard watched her go before taking his own men elsewhere.

"What are we going to do?" Miriam whispered under her breath. James drew a breath.

"We have to find Frank," he said, inspecting his gun. "I don't have enough ammo to spare in a full-out fight with them. We'll have to keep out of sight." He kept crouched and peered out of the brush again. "If we follow them, we may end up finding Frank—and if we both end up finding him at the same time, well, we can figure it out from there."

They set out, while on the other side of the forest, Frank was engaged in a blind firefight with Alastair. He pressed himself behind a tree, breathing hard, his barrel raised and trained on the air. All was quiet, but a chortle reached him from afar.

"It's been a long time since I've had this much fun, Mr. Sunderland!" shouted the lunatic sharpshooter. "I'd love to not have to kill you!"

"You don't have to!" Frank yelled back. "I'm fine with settling it over a cup of coffee!"

There was a rustle above him, and Frank whipped around to see Alastair hunkered above in a tree, smiling. "You're quite the charmer, aren't you?" he laughed and then unloaded. Frank ran off, taking cover and returning fire. However, soon there was only the click of empty rounds from both of them.

"Seems we've neglected our counting!" Alastair said. Frank chuckled lightly, but behind was another voice, sneering.

"You may have, but we haven't."

Something pierced Frank's left calf, driving him down to one knee. He bellowed out in pain, clutching his leg and finding an arrow embedded. He jerked it out and fell onto his palms. "What's this?" Alastair demanded angrily, coming forth. He was faced by Leonard and his troop. "I haven't finished playing with him yet!"

"You've done what you were allotted," Leonard said. "You flushed him out for us. I'll take it from here."

Frank turned and glared savagely at the man. "You," he seethed, "Wolf."

"Indeed." Leonard shrugged suavely. "You're doing well, it seems, Frank."

Susan appeared with her men, and her eyes lit up at the sight of Frank. "You actually got him! I'll be damned!"

Frank reached out for his revolver, but Leonard's boot came down harshly on his hand. Frank screamed and the blond man took the gun, marveling at it. "What a weapon. To think it has spelt the end for so many of God's children." He flashed out suddenly and pointed it at Frank's head. "I should kill you now, with it no less," he said furiously before affecting a smile. "But that'd be distasteful. I'd rather us settle this genially. This constant bloodshed is needless."

"Don't be such a blowhard," Frank groaned with a dead laugh. "You can just admit you forgot it isn't loaded."

"Always the joker, aren't you, Sunderland?" Leonard hid the gun away within his coat. "We'll see how long that lasts. As we speak your friends are at our mercy."

"I don't believe you," Frank said. "Hell, I bet Jim's got his sights on us right now. I just hope he doesn't take a shot at you. Nah. I want to be the one to put a bullet in your mouth."

Leonard smiled coldly. "All in due time, Sunderland, but I'm afraid we have things to do first." His other boot came down on Frank's face and then all was dark.

Beyond them, James did indeed watch. He clutched his gun tightly, but was unwilling to fire. "There's too many," he told Dennis and Miriam. "We'll be the ones taken out."

They witnessed Frank carried away. James turned to the other two. "Where are they taking him? Do you know?"

Miriam hesitated, then said, "They might be taking him to the prison."

"What prison?"

"There's a prison out on the lake," she said. "It stretches underground to a settlement in the forest. I've never been there myself, but… I think that would be it. They would take Frank there."

James glanced at his gun and then at the medallion around his neck. He thought hard for a long moment. "Take me there," he said at last. "We have to save him. Frank would do the same for me—for all of us."

--

The sheepish priest Michael stood atop the porch of Wish House, chomping unceremoniously on a bright red apple. He was dressed casually, with faded denim jeans and a light jacket. He saw Leonard Wolf and his group approach from the woods, with an unconscious Frank at the front. Behind him stood an idle figure, a yellow Robbie with a blackened eye.

"It's almost time to make our move," he said, Robbie nodding in confirmation. He turned and offered the apple to his silent companion, but he was gone. Michael smiled and took another bite.

**END EPISODE FIVE**


	6. Episode Six

"Jimmy!"

He looked up, putting his face to the great, refreshing breeze, and saw his wife, Margaret, waving at him from across the pier. She was wearing a nice, colorful summer dress, the one she had been wearing when he had first met her. He laughed and waved back and started towards her, the sound of merriment all around him. It was the decade of free expression—a time to let it all hang loose and not worry.

The sky was a stunning, clear blue, peaceful. As he neared her, he saw that she was with a young boy, sandy-haired and freckled, dressed in a t-shirt, shorts, and sandals. He toted a dandy red balloon, one his mother had surely bought for him during their frolicking. James reached them and smiled at his son.

"What have you got there?" he asked cheerfully, to which the boy shrugged nonchalantly.

"Nothin'," he said, smiling and revealing many missing teeth. Margaret touched her husband's arm.

"We were waiting for you," she said. "You were gone for a long time."

"I know," he said, looking to her. "But I'm here now. We'll—" He stopped, his wife and son gone, vanished into the air. "Margaret? Where have you gone?" He whirled around and saw that everything was gone. He was surrounded by blackness.

"Jimmy!" cried a voice far-off, sounding like his wife.

"Margaret!" he cried back and ran in the direction of her voice, her screams never any closer. As hope left him, he finally found her on her side in the darkness, caked in bloody. "Margaret," he murmured despairingly, kneeling down beside her. Slowly he turned her over and saw her wide, glassy eyes. He cradled her, stifling a sob, when ahead of him was a whimper.

"Daddy." He looked up and saw the boy idling before dropping dead. James uttered a roar of anguish, seeing the figure behind his son. Hooded and garbed in a long, black cloak, he loomed over the defeated man.

"James Stone," the figure spoke, his voice rich, deep, and dead.

"What do you want with me?" James demanded. "Why won't you kill me, too?"

"I did not kill them," the stranger said with a hint of amusement at the notion. "You did."

"No," James stammered in disbelief. "I would never kill them. I would never—"

"You will kill them," the man said, as monotonous as before. "Yet I can stop you from doing so. I can save them. However, in return I ask one thing of you."

"Anything!" James yelled at them. "If you can save Margaret, anything! You can even kill me!"

The man uttered a hollow laugh. "To save them, you will suffer a fate worse than death, I am afraid. Allow me to show you…" He reached out to touch James' face…

**SILENT HILL: Prelude to a Crappy Plotline; Episode Six**

James awoke with a start to see Dennis hovering over him. A crow cawed somewhere distant, and the sky was an ashy gray, both signs of the morning. James rose up, mopping his face with a hand; the vision of his dead wife remained in his mind like a still-image.

"Was there anything?" he asked, throwing glances around the area. Miriam began to awaken, still partially asleep. Dennis shrugged and shook his head.

"A few of them were walking around earlier, but that was, what, two hours ago? They've gone since then."

James nodded in understanding, drawing his gun. "They may have given up the search for now, but they know we're still out here. We have to be careful." He turned to Miriam and helped the girl to her feet. "You know where they are, right? You have to lead me there."

"There is a settlement, near the lake," she said. "They must have taken Frank to the prison there, underground."

"Well, let's go, then," James said and started into the forest. Dennis hailed him.

"Hold on a minute," he said, his stomach letting out a thunderous roar. "What about food?"

James shook his head. "There's no time for that now." He turned away. "If you want, you can always pick some berries on the way." His fingers found their way around the medallion, as if seeking reassurance.

---

Gradually the room came into view, although blurry. As Frank strained to open his eyes, his head exploded with fresh pain. He ground his teeth together and tried to rise, but his hands were bound behind the chair tightly with rough rope. Slowly things focused.

The only light came from a wide ring of candles, with him seated in the center. There was enough illumination to discern a table before him beside an altar of some sort. Books and other obscure objects were scattered about it, and leaning against it was a man.

"You're awake," he said, chuckling. "I was becoming worried."

"Where am I?" Frank sputtered, shaking his head and trying to regain his composure. Leonard Wolf appeared before him, his coat off and his red sleeves rolled up, revealing strong, white forearms. He leaned casually against the desk, smirking his trademark smirk.

"You've been a tough one," Leonard said laughingly. "We've been going back and forth, back and forth, but you're ours now—you're _mine_."

"Don't you ever shut up?" Frank snapped. "If you're going to talk, answer my question. Where are we?"

Leonard regarded him with a grimace, shrugging. "We're underground, beneath our forest settlement." He paused, licking his lips. "I'm sure your little friends think you've been spirited off to the prison, but they're mistaken."

"Jim? Miriam?" Frank mumbled, casting his eyes around the darkness. "Where are they? If you touch them—"

Leonard reeled a fist back and slammed it into Frank's cheek, knocking the spittle from his mouth. "I don't much enjoy the sound of other people's voices, Frank," he said sternly, leaning back again. "As for your friends, I wouldn't worry. Miriam has betrayed us, and that other one, the patient, he's of no concern whatsoever. No, we're much more interested in your partner, Stone."

"What do you want with Jim?" Frank demanded, bringing his head up. "Why is he so goddamn important? He has a family, he has—"

Another punch, harder this time. "It's an imperative from God," Leonard said, holding Frank's head up by the chin. "She wants him, and we're going to do as she wishes. You'll see in time, as well as he—resisting is pointless. Paradise cannot wait." He pounded Frank again, leaving him breathless and his jaw bruised. He turned to the desk, taking something into his hand.

"I'm going to educate you, Frank. Unlike the children, however, your mind has already been set, tainted by the word of the heretics." He turned back, holding a large, gleaming knife. "You have turned from Her light. You have forsaken Her, but She, She in Her mercy, has not forsaken you. You can still be saved."

Frank laughed, glaring up at him. "You know, Wolf, I'm going to enjoy killing you."

"Oh, but I doubt you'll enjoy it anymore than I am right now," Leonard chuckled, moving towards Frank, the knife up in his hand.

---

The morning mist was difficult to pierce, but James could easily spot the dark cloaks of the cultists as they moved about between the slew of small buildings scattered about. Some carried torches, accompanying others to their deeds.

James flitted through the trees, gun drawn, Miriam and Dennis close behind. He stopped behind a tree, catching sight of a great wooden scaffold at the center of the compound, complete with a noose dangling in the early breeze.

"Jesus," he muttered unconsciously. "Is that actually used?" he asked Miriam through the corner of his mouth.

"Yes," she replied quietly, shame somewhere in her voice. "I've never actually seen an execution, though. I've been encouraged to go, but… I've never had the heart." She bowed her head. "I suppose I'm weak."

"No," James told her softly, keeping his eyes on the square. "You made your own decision, you did what you thought was right. That's not weakness."

She stared at him for a moment before stepping out. "We should press on." They followed her deeper into the compound, keeping to the edge of the trees. In the distance, James began to discern faintly a great, dark mass: Toluca Lake.

"The lake," Miriam said, leading them aside to a small shack near the cliff overlooking the expanse. No one around, she opened the door and revealed a rectangular orifice in the ground, ragged and leading into pure blackness. A set of dug steps descended and then vanished.

"This is it? This leads into the prison?" James asked.

"Yes," said Miriam. "This is the only entrance that I know of. I'm sure Frank will be somewhere inside."

James contemplated, then nodded. "Alright. I'll go down first. Wait here, and when the coast is clear I'll come back up to bring you down." The two nodded and he began his descent, soon disappearing into the shadows. Miriam and Dennis waited apprehensively, a yawn startling them from behind.

"Well, look what we have here," Michael said, shrugging with a smile. A group of cultists stood behind him. "Take them away," he said, gesturing towards them with a hand, "and while you're at it, seal that hole up."

---

James was deep underground, guiding every step slowly with a hand to the dank wall. Noises reached him from above, and the weak, miniscule light began to fade. He looked up, distraught. "Miriam? Dennis?" No answer came.

His hand gripped the medallion, shaking, and he resisted the notion to run back up. _I have to find Frank,_ he thought. _Then we can get out of here. I can get back to Margaret and the baby. I can get home._

He resumed, his labored breathing his only companion. The revolver and medallion in his hands felt distant, far away. He felt distant, far away. A peculiar lightheadedness came over him, soon transforming into dizziness. He stumbled to a stop, solid ground. The steps ceased, and somewhere before him, a light flickered ominously.

"Miriam didn't say anything about the lighting," he thought aloud, slowly making his way underneath the decrepit fixture, rusted and worn. A heavy steel door gave way to a long, narrow corridor, lined with cells, but the doors were barred and impossible to open. The electric lights, spread out unevenly, scattered shadows all about him. Water dripped somewhere far away, and a groan in the structure sent shivers down his spine.

"Frank?" he called, wandering into a wide, dark room. "Frank? Frank!"

A moving shape caught his eye, and the revolver was up in a flash, a testament to his reflexes and trained eye. It came forward out of the shadows, tall and imposing. He narrowed his eyes at it in confusion—it was Robbie the Rabbit, whom they had encountered at Rosewater Park.

He stood still before James, his scorched eye apparent.

"What do you want?" James asked, holding his weapon high. "Where's Frank?"

Robbie did nothing, only continued to idle. James swallowed hard and spoke again. "Can you even speak? Say something! Say something, or I'll shoot!"

Still Robbie did nothing, and James, tense and frenzied, cocked the gun. "Damn it, say something! Tell me where Frank is!"

Silence, but Robbie began to raise a hand, extending a giant, furry finger outward. Before he could fully point, however, James fired; the bullet tore through the costume's face and eye, and the figure collapsed into a heap. James stared down at it, disturbed, when another figure approached from the left. He whirled around and was faced with another Robbie, this one blue. His finger pressed down on the trigger and ended it.

Two more came into the light, one pink and green. He turned to them and fired again, screaming out and unloading several rounds into the last rabbit. Once they lay dead around him, another walked out of the shadows, and he spun to it, firing—but all that came was a dead click.

"You're out of ammunition," Dahlia Gillespie said haughtily, smirking slyly at him. He lowered the revolver, breathless.

"You," he murmured, casting his gaze downward at the costumes surroundings his ankles.

"There's no point in continuing," she said. "Put the gun down. Surrender. We've captured your companions, and your stalwart hero, Sunderland, he's gone, I'm afraid."

James looked up at her, glaring. "What are you talking about?"

"He's dead," she said, producing a revolver from underneath her shawl. James stared at it in disbelief.

"You're lying. Frank… you couldn't kill him. He wouldn't let you. There's no way. He's not dead. He can't be dead."

"You don't have to believe me, James," she said, throwing the gun to his feet, "but that doesn't make it untrue. You are alone." She advanced forward as he backed away. "I am aware of the dreams, the nightmares… She is calling out to you. You have resisted so far, but your will is weakening. You cannot escape Her."

"I won't… be a part of this," he said, backing into the wall. "I won't join you. I won't! I'll find Frank, and when I do, we'll put an end to this! I'll go home, back to Margaret, back to—"

"Your wife will die," Dahlia said, watching James gasp, stricken with horror. "The baby will kill her. You will be left alone."

"Shut up!" James cried, vainly slamming down on the trigger of his revolver. He fell to his knees, grasping the medallion with a hand and tearing it free from his neck. "You're wrong!" he screamed, throwing it into the darkness. "She won't die! I won't let her! I'll go home, I'll stop it!"

"There is nothing you can do as you are now," she said, standing over him. "What could you do, anyway? You failed your friends, and they will suffer for it. Sunderland is dead and gone. You lack the power to save anyone, to change anything. You are weak."

"I am not weak!" he roared, taking her by the neck of her shawl. "You don't know me, you have no idea how powerful I am!"

"I know exactly who you are," she told him back, released from his grip. "You are a lost lamb, seeking guidance. You are envious of Sunderland, aren't you? You envy his power, his lifestyle. You chastise him for lacking purpose, but you covet that freedom. You hate him; you hate your family—"

"Be quiet!"

"You have no true purpose, no true calling. You want to be like him, yet you hate what he is. You are a shadow, framed by those around you. Your true place lies at Her bosom, fulfilling Her will. Break away, James. Free yourself from your meaningless ties—take on the power to change yourself."

She extended her hand out to his groveling form, and slowly he looked up.

---

With a heavy roar, Frank forced himself up and rammed headfirst into Leonard, slamming him against the desk. He lurched and swung around, knocking Leonard to the floor with the chair. The knife slid across the floor, and Frank hit the ground beside it, slashing his arm in an attempt to loop the rope around the blade. With a grunt, he heaved himself up and cut through the rope, freeing his hands. He stumbled back, rubbing his worn wrists. Leonard lay unconscious.

Frank took the knife, glancing at his blood along its side. Wiping his brow with his arm, he made up the staircase.

**END EPISODE SIX**


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